


A Stairway to Nowhere

by all_the_kings_ham



Series: A Stairway to Nowhere [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2 good dogs, Bad Decisions, Bad Flirting, Dean Winchester Makes Bad Decisions, Dean Winchester Tells Bad Jokes, DeanxLucifer, Ducifer - Freeform, Established Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, House Sitting, I wasn't about to write a story without some nice but touchin', Lucifer (Supernatural) is Called Nick, M/M, Meet-Cute, Neighbors, Protective Siblings, Rare Pairings, Sorry Not Sorry, and that plot means I get to hurt one of our boys, because try as I might I've got to have some form of a plot here, but can I start by laughing that 'original dog characters' is an existing tag?, falling for someone before you've even seen them, have no fear, just a little, late night long talks, listening to other people having sex, more importantly, ok, or a little, there will be some touching of the butts, what else would we call this ship?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2019-11-06 07:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 79,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17935055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_the_kings_ham/pseuds/all_the_kings_ham
Summary: Dean happily agrees to dog-sit for a month while Sam is out of town, but what should have been a beautiful vacation becomes significantly less relaxing and far more complicated once he meets the upstairs neighbor.





	1. The Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aw yeah.  
> you may not have seen this one coming  
> but after writing so many samXlucifer stories, with some uncomfortably close moments happening between Dean and Luci, this sort of story was bound to happen XD  
> I'm not even sorry

The stairs were the only part of this whole thing that gave Dean pause.

It was Sam’s apartment, and if his little brother was cool with a set of stairs that went nowhere other than straight into the ceiling? Well, then that was his issue. When Sam moved down here to Los Angeles two years back he’d explained that his place was a big old house that had been converted into two apartments back in the fifties―but for whatever reason Dean hadn’t ever imagined that the genius doing the remodel would have just sealed up the top of the staircase with a weirdly horizontal door and a padlock that in no way blended in smoothly with the rest of the ceiling. Books were stored on the staggered shelves, the unused stairs repurposed in a very Sam-like way.

“Dude, this looks so crazy.”  He walked up the steps until his head almost brushed the door, reaching over his head to knock lightly against it, rattling the handle.

“Dean, don’t,” Sam had that perfect bitch face that Dean hadn’t realised he’d missed so much. “Stop knocking on the neighbor’s floor and come see where I keep the dog treats.”

Grumbling in agreement, Dean hopped off the stairs and went to join his brother in the little kitchen, patting Sam’s eager looking dog between the ears. Cookie was a rescue and not any kind of recognizable breed of dog as far as Dean was concerned. Just a shaggy, floppy, long-legged beast with a tail that wagged hard enough that there would be bruises on Dean’s shins by morning.

“So, treats are on top of the fridge. She’s tall enough that if you leave them on the counter she’ll eat ‘em.” Sam pointed to the very large bag of Milk Bones, obviously not intending to give one to the dog right now.

Cookie had other ideas, seeing her dad’s proximity to the treats she started to whine this high pitched sound, her nails clicking on the tile as she danced side to side in anticipation. Looking absolutely pitiful until Sam gave in, taking out a single treat and passing it to Dean.

“She do tricks?” Holding the bone shaped biscuit up at chest level to keep it away from the eager and wide dog mouth, Dean decided that it dog treats smelled awful and that dogs had it rough. “Sit down, you mutt.”

The dog planted herself instantly at his feet, ears perked up and eyes fixed.

It was cute. Even if Dean wouldn’t admit it, the dog was freakin’ adorable. He handed over the treat and rubbed his hand against a pant leg to get the crumbs off. “Anything else I need to know, Sammy?”

“No, um... “ Sam glanced around the small home, the kitchen, dining room and living room that were one in the same space, the two bedrooms and bathroom that had all been part of the initial tour, the patio on the other side of the glass door, leading out to a small and overgrown yard. “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

Laughing, Dean nodded to the little stack of paper on the table, “Sammy, you left four pages worth of notes for me and if we go over them again you’re going to miss your plane.”

“Sorry this whole thing was so last minute,” Sam apologised, reaching down to scratch his dog’s head. Apparently Cookie’s regular dog sitter was the upstairs neighbor who had a dog of their own. However, according to Sam a month long trip was too much to ask for, and the work friend who’d agreed to let the dog come stay with them had backed out yesterday morning.

Sam had been making noises about cancelling his trip, the trip he’d been wanting to go on since he been a tween and found a National Geographic about those weird pyramid things down in South America. For all the years that he’d been geeking out about it, he was finally an adult and had the money and time to go backpacking with friends for a whole month through overgrown, sweaty jungles.

Listening over the phone to Sam’s whole story over lunch yesterday, Dean had realised that, as the best big brother in the world, he really didn’t have any other options of what to do here.   

It turned out that it was only a sixteen hour drive between their homes. A drive that Dean had never had a reason to make, as Sam always came back home for holidays. His first visit out here to California to see his baby brother and there was no time at all for pleasantries. Sam’s bags were already beside the front door.

“Get out of here. I’ll be fine.” Dean nudged Sam towards the door, keeping an arm around his shoulders a little longer than needed, almost like a hug. Just the right amount of physical contact. “I know how to _exist_ in a house without a how-to list. Me and the dog’ll be―”

A noise came from above like the whole ceiling was about to come in on them.  Dean braced himself, pulling Sam back against a wall like it could protect them from falling debris.

Startled at being throttled, Sam missed a beat before laughing a little too hard. “God. Chill, Dean. It’s just the upstairs neighbors.”

“Are they bowling?” Warily, Dean let go of his brother, keeping his eyes on the ceiling.

“No… it’s just, it’s just Gabriel’s brother doing whatever it is that he does.”

Slowly, Dean looked over at his brother, waiting for a better sentence.

“Two brothers live up there, since before I moved in. I’ve met Gabriel a bunch of times. Short, blonde, nice guy. He’s a photographer and he’s gone most of the time. Two years I’ve been here I’ve never seen the brother. He apparently doesn’t go outside. But I hear him plenty… at night,” Sam added on like an admission of guilt, smiling, shrugging and grabbing his bag, suddenly seeming very eager to get to his flight.

“At night?”

“Only on nights that Gabriel’s gone.” Which meant absolutely nothing at all to Dean. “If it gets too loud just bang on the ceiling with the broom. It works sometimes. Thanks again, Dean. Cookie, you’re going to be a good girl for your uncle. Aren’t you? Aren’t you?” He crouched down to kiss his happily dancing dog between her ears, then he stood and hugged Dean a little too tight. “Thanks again.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Two hundred bucks on the counter for you and Cookie. And you’ll have to stay for a few days once I get back. We can hang out and―”

“And get your ass out of here.” Dean laughed, smacking Sam’s shoulders before pushing him back towards the door. His kid brother was acting like they didn’t talk on the phone every night, or that they hadn’t just spent all of Sam’s spring break together a few months back. “Be safe. Have fun. Get laid. Tell me all about it when you get back.”

Sam laughed before he left and Dean got to stand there wondering how long it would take the dog sitting beside the door to realise that Sam wouldn’t be back for a very long time.

“Come on, girl.” Dean took the dog by the collar, gently trying to guide her away to a less pitiful location in the apartment. “You wanna go out back and―”

Maybe furniture was being moved around upstairs. Wood scraping against wood, something heavy and loud slowly going from the kitchen area towards the bedroom.

“Wow. Ok. That’s going to get real old real fast.”

Cookie barked softly in agreement, and from the other side of the ceiling, a second dog barked back.

Standing there like the biggest chump in the world, Dean listened to the two dogs carry on a very intense conversation up until distantly a muffled man’s voice said, “ _Loki, enough_.” Upstairs dog fell quiet and Cookie lowered her ears and looked at Dean like she wanted him to do something about this.

“Nah. I’d had about enough of that noise too.” He went and slid open the back door, pointing to the yard. “Come on, apparently you like to play fetch. Let’s go throw some stuff and pretend that your dad didn’t just orphan you.”

Cookie and Dean had a surprisingly nice day together, it helped that she was the most agreeable girl in the world and apparently Dean should have believed his brother a bit better when Sam had started singing the praises of his dog a year ago when he got her.   

Laying on the couch that night, the dog a comfortable weight against his chest, Dean was enjoying a baseball game on the TV, eating Dorito chips that he’d had to walk to the store to get on account of the only food in the house was organic, plant based, or not fit for human consumption. He’d very nearly forgotten the upstairs neighbor situation, seeing as he’d lived his whole life without someone living overhead. Even the weirdo stairs that went nowhere had faded into the back of his peripheral.

And then came the moaning.

The man upstairs had either porn or female company going at a high volume.

After about half a minute of listening, Dean decided that it had to be a real woman, if only because porn tended to get overly specific when the girl started to talk about what she wanted, and whoever was upstairs was mostly just making very loud, very agreeable sounds. And as happy as Dean was for her, in a congratulatory sort of way, he had to turn up the volume on the television and do his best to pretend that people weren’t somewhere up above his head really getting into it.

Sam _had_ warned Dean, sort of almost, that the neighbor’s brother made noises at night. But around eleven o’clock (which was California time, Dean’s inner clock screaming at him that it was already the next day and really time to go to sleep), when round number four got going, Dean realised why his brother had left this fun fact out of the housesitting sales pitch.

“Oh my God!” Dean yelled up at the ceiling, positive that they couldn’t hear him over their aggressive sex. “Go to bed already, you sons of bitches!”

Cookie lifted her head, looking at him sympathetically, ears down and eyes tired. They were stuck on the couch, both mostly asleep, and if Dean could get up he’d have found the broom and started banging like Sam had recommended. He had to go with whatever he could reach, which was a book from the coffee table. Chucking the paperback up to the ceiling made a dull _thud_ , which was not at all enough to disrupt the marathon sex above him.

“Knock it off!”

His pleas went unheeded, the woman up there moaning, “ _yeah- yeah- fuck yeah―_ ”

Dean found the TV controller and threw it as hard as he could, hearing the plastic crack. The thing fell down on him in pieces, Cookie yipping softly and jumping off him. And Dean would have to buy Sam a new remote―but worth it.

Wholly worth it, because the noises finally stopped.

“Keep it down,” Dean yelled at the ceiling. “People are trying to sleep.”

Muffled, not nearly as clear as the sounds of pleasure had been, a masculine voice yelled back, “ _Sorry_!”

An apology that would have meant a hell of a lot more if the noises didn’t start back up almost immediately, though slightly quieter this time.

All too quickly he decided to hate the upstairs neighbors, because whoever was getting it on up there was basically forcing Dean to make plans to go buy ear plugs or headphones in the morning. But that was tomorrow and this was tonight. Cookie had padded off to Sam’s bedroom, and without the heavy living blanket Dean dragged himself up, turning off the television, and following the dog.  

It wasn't a great night’s sleep, especially seeing as he was back awake in time to see rosy light creeping in on the edge of the sky. It would be another few days for his body to adjust to the time difference. But hey, it meant figuring out how to use Sam’s overly complicated coffee maker, and getting to sit out on the back porch while Cookie terrorised the squirrels.   

Sunrise and imported coffee felt a little too hipster for Dean’s taste, but if he was being honest with himself he didn’t thoroughly hate it. Distantly he could hear the morning traffic, but through the fence and the overgrown landscaping the sounds were muffled. Behind him a door opened and closed and for a second he didn’t think anything of it, his tired brain taking a little too long to catch up.

Though he wasn’t sure who he expected to see, the middle aged, dark haired woman in yoga pants was a bit surprising. She bounded down the back stairs, texting and humming softly to herself right up until she saw Cookie. “Hey, girl. Hey. What are you doing out here… oh.” She noticed Dean slumped on the plastic lawn chair and nodded to him before saying with a rather different tone, “ _Hey, boy_. What are you doing out here?”

“Oh, you know. Just admirin’ the scenery.” Not able to help himself, he winked at her.

Though she didn’t necessarily look like she’d slept well last night, there was a tiredness to her eyes, when she grinned at Dean her whole face lit up. With dimples in her cheeks and soft brown curls framing her heart shaped face, her looks instantly went from ‘slightly hot mom’ to ‘significantly hot step-mom’ status. “I’d heard that Gabe and Sam had had a fight, but I didn’t realise that Sam had replaced that bastard with someone so charming.”

It was still early in the morning and it took Dean an embarrassingly long time for his brain to catch up with such an insane sort of accusation. “Sam and… _Gabe_?” He was almost certain that was the name that his brother had given to the upstairs neighbor, but he wasn’t sure how that fact weighed in right at that moment.

Her eyebrows raised and she turned to look into the darkened downstairs apartment. “Oh. Did… did, um, he didn’t tell you about Gabe? Awkward. Well then, I’m just going to head out to my car and pretend that I didn’t mention any ex-boyfriends.”

Dean blinked.

Patting Cookie on the head, the woman rounded the edge of the building, hesitating to glance back and grin once more. “Sorry if we kept you two up last night. If you and him want to even the score I’ll be swinging by again next week. I don’t mind a bit of competition. See who can be the loudest.”

And though, under nearly any other circumstance that would be a rather interesting proposition from a woman, Dean’s whole mind and body recoiled as he blurted, “Sam’s my little brother. I’m just here house sitting for him.”

She turned back to face him, a few conflicting emotions playing over her face as she seemed to sort things out in her mind. “So… so he’s still with Gabe? Sorry, I’d just assumed. You know, Nick and I don’t really spend a lot of time discussing his brother. Besides, Sam could do a hell of a lot better is all I’m sayin’.”

Dean wanted to believe that this woman was lying to him, because that was easier to make sense of than the idea that his baby brother was dating the man who lived upstairs. But, at the same time, she didn’t have any reason to lie to him.

“Shit. I’m going to be late,” the woman hissed after glancing at her phone. With a wave, she took off again, calling over a shoulder, “I’ll catch you around, Sam’s big brother.”

Out of reflex, Dean waved back before sitting there and letting his coffee grow cold.

As the day started to gain momentum, the traffic beyond the fence growing more steady and the sun starting to bear down, Dean headed back inside. Careful to put things back where he found them he rifled through Sam’s belongings, looking for some kind of sign of… something? It’s not like he was expecting to find a stack of dude on dude porn under his brother’s mattress, but that would have really helped to clear things up fast. Everything in Sam’s apartment was just very _Sam_. Very normal and expected.

Reaching out he rubbed the ears of the scruffy dog who’d been following him around from room to room. “Hey, girl. Is your dad banging the guy upstairs?”

Cookie wagged her whiplike tail and refused to answer.

Crouching down to more thoroughly ruffle the dog, Dean urged, “Come on, you can tell me.”

She tipped her head up to lick his face, which was actually awful, and laughing Dean stood back up to escape. “Be that way then. Keep your secrets.”

It was really none of Dean’s business anyway. He’d had many fine one night stands over the years that he never told his brother about. But those had been one night only performances, and even if Sam protested, Dean always made a point to share if he met someone worth seeing a second time. What really was getting under his skin here, more than the thought of his brother rubbing up against another guy, was the idea that Sam wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing. And that apparently at least one person felt that the guy upstairs was a bit of a bastard. Sam frankly deserved better.

Well, Dean would be here for a month. That was plenty of time to meet the neighbor and find out what was going on instead of just making wild assumptions that the dog refused to either deny or confirm.

As per the instructions left for him, before it could get too hot outside Dean pulled Cookie’s harness from the wall and took her on a walk. They swung by a local shop that didn’t specifically say ‘no dogs allowed’ and he risked the wrath of the retail workers by keeping the shaggy dog at his side. She was freakishly well behaved and thankfully Dean managed to buy a set of headphones and get out before anyone yelled at them.

The walk home took twice as long as expected because apparently dogs were chick magnets and every woman that Dean passed by wanted to meet Cookie. If he’d have known that’s how it worked he would have got himself a dog years ago. So with his shopping, the best dog ever made, and the phone number of no less than three attractive women, Dean headed back to the apartment.

A comically large package was waiting on the porch, leaning up against the wall and hidden from the street by some kind of blooming bush. His best guess was that his brother had ordered a new flat screen T.V. and somehow forgot to mention it in the giant list of notes left behind. Putting the dog into the house and giving her some food, Dean went back out to the porch and started to drag the box inside, peering at the labels to see if they’d give a hint as to the contents. Disappointed, Dean saw that it wasn’t Sam’s name on the box.

_N. Shirley, 2020 Carmine Way, Apt. B, Los Angeles, California_

Which meant that the delivery man had been too lazy or too confused to walk the box around back and up the stairs, because Sam’s front door had a very noticeable letter ‘A’ right above the peephole.

Annoyed, not just because it meant that he wasn’t going to get a fancy T.V. to mess with, Dean hauled the box through the apartment and out the back door.

Officially, it was too hot outside. The sun directly overhead, the California summer heat not pulling its punches, and Dean was sweating by the time he got the awkwardly shaped box up the narrow flight of stairs.

“Hey,” he slapped the door twice. “You got a box... _you fucker_ ,” he hissed the last under his breath, not out of malice so much as it was the only thing that he knew about the man living up here, or his brother. Either way. They were both fuckers, in the literal sense, as far as Dean was concerned.  

A dog, smaller sounding than Cookie, had started to bark on the other side of the door.

“I’m from downstairs. The UPS guy left it on my porch.” There was a window to the side of the door and the curtains swayed slightly. It was very dark inside and Dean couldn’t tell if it was simply the dog rushing around or if there was a human home.

Just when he was about to head back downstairs in defeat, a deadbolt slid noisily and the door cracked open.

The sun was glaringly bright right in Dean’s eyes, which made seeing into the cave of an apartment almost imposible. A knee-high dog with a bushy dog mustache and one ear that stood straight up came barreling out through the door, to bounce and yip and sniff aggressively at Dean’s legs.

“Hey. Hey, um. Thank you,” he held a hand down for the dog to lick and the offering seemed to appease it. Giving the thing a firm pat because they were friends now, Dean looked up to the dark doorway. “Guess they got the apartment numbers confused.”

Dimly, he could make out that there was a man standing inside. Tall. Broad shoulders. Not making any move to retrieve his box.

“You want help bringing it in?” Dean hesitantly offered, feeling uncomfortable at the prolonged silence. “It’s pretty damn heavy.”

“No. I got it,” a very tired voice answered, yawning before forcing out a soft, “Thanks, Sam.”

Dean stopped petting the dog, “You’re... welcome?”

Though he’d been told ‘no’ to his offer of help, he got a hip against the box and started pushing it inside until the obviously half asleep man took over. In a very near cartoony way, the box vanished slowly into the apartment, followed by the dog, and then the door closed.

In all likelihood that there had been the man that Sam had lived downstairs from for two years and still never met.The one who wasn’t Gabe.  As the lock loudly settled back into place, it made a little more sense to Dean how something like that could have happened.

He planned to steer clear of the cave dwelling weirdo upstairs, which in theory wouldn’t be too challenging.


	2. The agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every now and then I start a story that I legit get excited about writing. This is one of those. I think these two dudes are my current favorites to write for, so it's been super fun just getting to sit down and just experience them sassing each other endlessly <3  
> and looking at my past week, I realize that in writing the latest chapter for A Northern Hymn, it's also a chapter of mostly just these two XD oh well. They're fun and somehow it's therapeutic in relaxing after hectic school days.

 

Up near the top of the first page of notes left by Sam was the simple request of:

_ Don’t bring home strange women and have sex in my bed  _

So following directions like the good big brother that he was, when Dean called one of the women he’d met on his walk, he spent some time getting to know enough about her that she wouldn’t be a stranger, and when he took her back to the apartment after dinner they avoided the bed and kept it on the couch. 

He offered for her to stay and he’d make breakfast in the morning. Instead they made out on the porch while she waited for her Uber to arrive. Grinning at him before she got in the car, she made a promise to call him on Friday and maybe they could do this again. 

With a bounce in his step, he went back inside, giving Cookie two dog treats for being the best wingman he could ever ask for. Dean started to clean up, humming softly to himself.

He’d been here for four days, just hardly over half a week, and this had definitely been the best day by far. Or at least it could have been if there wasn’t suddenly an ungodly sound coming from upstairs. The neighbors had been near silent for days and Dean had basically forgotten that they even existed.

“Hey,” he looked up at the off white ceiling, raising his voice, “come on, dude. Save the furniture arranging for tomorrow. It’s almost midnight.”

The dragging sound stopped, replaced by heavy footfalls moving from the kitchen area to the door at the top of the stairs. “Fuck you!” Was the simple reply.

Hackles instantly raised, Dean called back, “Fuck you!”

That horizontal door shook as the man up there stomped on it. “If I have to spend nearly an hour listening to you nail some girl, you can deal with me rebalancing the feng shui up here.”

Cookie started barking. So did the dog upstairs.

Stomping up the few stairs it took for him to be able to reach the door, Dean pounded against it hard enough that his knuckles stung. “Sound travels downward too, Romeo. So I’d say we’re about about even now.”

“No!” Footfalls moved off towards the ceiling over the kitchen and the upstairs barking softened. All too quickly the heavy steps came back and the overhead door shook. “We’re not even because I wasn’t cheating on your brother.”

All Dean managed in response was a confused, “...  _ What _ ?”

“Me getting laid when Gabe is out of town is very, very different than you doing it, Sammy.”

A few days ago, when Dean had dragged the giant box up to the back porch and the shifty neighbor had called him Sam, he’d chalked it up to the man being too tired to tell one Winchester from another. Apparently not only had Sam lived here for two years without ever seeing neighbor number two, but the neighbor hadn’t seen him either. They probably never even took the time to yell at each other through the floor in the middle of the night. 

Sam was definitely the more boring brother. 

Dean sat on the stairs with his head nearly brushing the weird sideways door, reaching out to Cookie, who still looked pretty distressed. She nosed his hand and he scratched her neck and shoulders until he saw her tail start to wag.

Now, a nicer man might have explained that Sam was off in Mexico, climbing ruins, getting a tan, and living his best life. Instead, Dean asked, “but Gabe’s out of town, and he doesn’t need to know, right?”

“Fuck you, Winchester.”

A phrase that Dean had heard many times in his life, and expected to hear many more.

“Come on. Be a  _ pal _ .”

“If I had a key to this goddamn door I’d…”

“You’d what?”

There were some inarticulate growling sounds threaded through an awful lot of profanity and Dean grinned. 

Yes. Technically he was digging a very deep hole for his little brother―but he had every intention of clearing things up before it got out of hand. 

“If you’re about done,” Dean flicked the dangling padlock that was probably the only thing keeping him safe from the muttering above him, “I need a shower and a good night’s sleep.”

“Fuck.You.”

“Yep, there it is.” Those very familiar words.

The door over his head shook under the other man’s feet and Dean was halfway down the stairs before he even had a chance to think his retreat all the way through.

“You ever worry that this door won’t hold up to you tap dancing on it?”

“You ever worry what’s going to happen if I tell Gabe about that little snack you had tonight?”

Those words startled Dean. “If?” He looked down at Cookie, seeing if she’d heard it too. “ _ If? _ The fuck you mean ‘if’? You think your brother’s boyfriend is screwing some girl and you’re not sure if you’re going to tell him or not? What kind of brother are you?”

No answer came down through that door. 

“Fuck me, dude. What kind of cold son of a bitch are you?”

A shorter stretch of silence before, “Are you high right now?”

“No.” With a soft snort of laughter, Dean grinned. “I’m not drunk either―if that’s what you were going to ask next. I’m also not Sam. He’s down in Mexico climbing things or whatever the hell nerds like him do on vacation. I’m just here dog-sitting Cookie for the next month.”

It was devastatingly quiet up there, and for a few tense seconds, Dean worried that he’d overstepped and actually made some real trouble for his baby brother. 

And then, “Gabe left a few days back for a photo thing down in Palenque and some other areas… he’s supposed to be gone for a month.”

With really no signs one way or the other, Dean had pushed the doubts about his brother’s sexuality from of his mind days ago. Apparently, he’d given up on that mystery far too quickly. “You’re serious? Dude, our brothers played us.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Sam’s older brother who somehow never realised the kid was into other guys.” Dean sat down on the stairs again, leaning back on his elbows so he could look at that horizontal door. “I mean, is this a new thing―or am I just that stupid?”

“Granted, I’ve only just met you, but I’m leaning towards the latter... I’m Nick, by the way.”

“Dean.”

“Are you the guy who brought my canvases up to me a few days ago?”

“Canvases?” Dean had a mental image of those things that Bob Ross used to paint on, but there was no way that’s what he’d dragged up the flight of stairs. They couldn’t possibly be that heavy.  “I thought that was a TV.”

“No.”

With no additional information provided.

What a weirdo.

Dean ran a hand over his face, stifling a yawn. Not really sure how to get out of this strange conversation he asked, “You going to take long rearranging the furniture?”

“I’ll be done by the time you’re out of the shower.”

“Promises, promises,” Dean reached out and poked at the dangling lock once more, idly wondering if there was a similar one of the other side of the door. “Hey, can we call a truce on the sexy times?”

“Can we what?”

“I mean, you let me know if your cute little brunette girlfriend is coming over for some-” he clicked his tongue, “and I’ll get out of the house for a few hours. An’ next time I have some company over I’ll do the same for you.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Oh, but Dean didn’t need the details. “Your fuck buddy then. Whatever. Just give me a heads up next time, ‘cause as happy as I am for you  _ really  _ having a good time up there, listening in ain’t my kink. Alright?”

What sounded an awful lot like a laugh came through the door. It was a nice laugh, one that didn’t match the mental image that Dean had built of the guy up there. 

“Alright,” Nick finally agreed. The door rattled with something more gentle than the previous stomps. Maybe a pat?  “Enjoy that shower. I’ll try to keep it down.”

It was that easy.

Dean slid from the stairs with a cheery ‘goodnight’ over his shoulder, wondering how Sam had managed to suffer through the upstairs noise pollution for two years with apparently never once just simply talking to the guy and asking him to knock it off. 

But that had always been the difference between the two of them. Sam was the don’t rock the boat sort, and Dean was a problem solver. 

Or at least he tried to be. 

There were definitely times when his efforts only made things worse.

\--

The next morning, a little after sunrise as his body was adjusting to the different time zone, Dean comfortably dragged himself to the kitchen and got the coffee pot going. Yawning, he reached down to scratch Cookie’s ears. She yawned back, and leaned into the affection, her nose wet against Dean’s bare leg. He didn’t like it, but it was too hot here in California to sleep in anything more than his boxers.

“Come on, Cook,” he slid his hand to her collar and gave the gentlest tug before letting her go and walking to the sliding glass door. 

She trotted happily after him, his furry shadow with nails that clicked noisily on the tile floor. There was a dog groomer’s appointment for her this weekend, and Dean hoped that they’d do something about those dog claws. Smiling, he opened the door and watched the energetic furball turn into a blur as she dashed out into the back yard. 

Going and getting down a mug, Dean settled into the morning routine that really hadn’t changed at all between Kansas and California. A couple methodical minutes in and he had a hot cup of deliciousness in his hands and he was headed to the back porch―swearing loudly as he almost tripped over the scruffy dog from upstairs. 

Loki was just standing there in the kitchen like he owned the place, his tail wagging furiously.

“Hey, buddy.” Dean carefully set his coffee safely on the counter before moving around the miniature mut to peer out into the yard. Cookie was the only one out there, barking excitedly at one of the trees. 

Ok. 

He turned back around to see that the uninvited dog was drinking from Cookie’s bowl, sloshing water onto the floor. 

“Alright. No. Come on, little guy.” Dean clapped his hands to get the dog’s attention, but all it got him was Cookie rushing to his side, curiously looking up at him. 

Barefoot and slightly annoyed, he moved around his brother’s dog and out to the yard. From there he could look up to the upstairs porch and see the the neighbor’s door was open a crack. 

“Hey!” It was dark inside and he had no idea if anyone was up there, but logic assumed that Loki hadn’t opened the door himself. 

Very faintly the call came from the cracked door, “Hey, Winchester number two.”

Dean couldn’t figure if this was more or less weird than last night’s conversation on the stairs. Talking to a closed door overhead strangely felt a little better than yelling up at a partially opened door to darkness. “I’m older, so if one of us is ‘Winchester number two’ it’s going to be Sam. Second, your dog is in my place.”

There was the barest bit of movement through the crack in the door. The longer Dean looked up into the shadows the more he thought that he could make out a hint of the man standing up there peeking out at him like some tin foil hat wearing shut in. 

“Why aren’t you wearing clothes?” Nick asked, a silvery stream of smoke trailing out of his apartment to quickly fade in the morning light. 

“I’m… fuck you, dude.” Dean felt the smallest twinge of awkwardness grip the base of his spine. The important parts of himself were covered and he refused to feel self conscious about it in his own yard. “Why is your dog in my house?”

“Did you leave the back door open?” Another thin trail of smoke. “Because he probably came in through the back door. I haven’t had any luck teaching him to open windows yet.”

Loki came happily bouncing out into the yard, followed by Cookie, the two of them chasing one another like little kids. 

“He usually goes down and plays with Cookie in the morning.”

Dean laughed at the suggestion. “I’ve been here for almost a week and this is the first morning I’ve seen him.”

“Yeah, well, you wake up later than your brother.”

“I’m watchin’ the fuckin’ sunrise out here,” Dean sputtered, “just what time is Sam getting up at?”

More smoke in place of an answer. 

“Whatever, man. It’s too damn early for this.” Dean ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck. “You want some coffee?”

There was a long bout of silence―aside from the not too distant traffic and the duet of happy dog sounds. If it wasn’t for the occasional puff of smoke though the crack in the door Dean would have assumed that the other man had left. 

Finally, Nick said, “Thank you? But I try not to have caffeine before bed. It messes with my sleep schedule.”

He couldn’t be sure without asking, and Dean had a feeling that even if he asked he wouldn’t get much of a straight answer, but it seemed possible that the man up there might already have a pretty messed up sleep schedule. Along with some other issues.

“I’m gonna’ go have breakfast,” Dean was done with this conversation, muttering to himself as he went back inside, “you nocturnal weirdo.”

And even though every morning since coming here he’d had his coffee outside, Dean didn’t think that he could drink in peace knowing that Nick was up there smoking and judging his lack of pants.

Cookie eventually came back in, followed by Loki, both of them plopping down beside the food bowl and looking expectant. Despite the few and very mixed feeling that Dean had about the man upstairs, he wouldn’t hold any of it against the scruffy little dog who didn’t live here. 

Taking down a second bowl, Dean poured some extra kibble before going and getting dressed for the day. Though he wasn’t really a dog person, or any kind of pet person, when the heat of the day started to settle in, and it was obvious that Loki planned to stay here with his friend, Dean didn’t argue. He just closed the sliding door and turned on the air conditioner. 

“Hey!” He tromped up enough stairs to knock on that sideways door. “Looks like I’m keepin’ your dog. Alright?”

There were soft footfalls over the ceiling that settled somewhere over his head.

“What?”

With a sigh, Dean repeated himself.

“It’s Gabe’s dog. Knock yourself out.”

“I’ll bring him up when I take Cookie out for a walk.”

“When is that?”

“In an hour?”

It got quiet up there and Dean tried to imagine what the other man was doing. Leaning against a wall, or maybe crouching down to talk directly to the door between them. 

“I’m supposed to take her out before it gets too damn hot. How y’all live like this is a mystery. It’s not even ten and I’m sweating.”

“You wanna’ take Loki with you?”

Simple answer was no. But if one dog was a chick magnet, then twice the dogs had to be twice as good. Plus, even he had to admit that Loki was kind of cute in a dust bunny come to life sort of way.  “Sure... um, but I’ll need a leash?”

“You can come up and get it.”

“You could bring it down, since I’m being nice enough to take your dog out for you.”

“Still my brother’s dog. Not mine.” Footsteps moved away, off towards the kitchen and further. 

Dean frowned and waited impatiently for them to return. 

“Meet you halfway,” Nick offered. “I’ve got the first half a dumbwaiter up here. If you can open it on your end I can send the leash down.”

“You fuckin’ serious here?” Dean felt like he was going crazy. There couldn’t be more than five feet of space between the two of them, but with the door and the lock it may as well have been miles. 

“Will you go to the garage and see if you can open the dumbwaiter thing or not? Because I’m just as fine to open the front door and toss the leash out on the yard if that works better for you.”

Only because he’d never seen a dumbwaiter outside of old movies and the little kid in him wouldn’t let him pass up the opportunity, Dean grumbled and went through the kitchen to the little garage that wouldn’t have been big enough for a car if Sam had even owned one. It was just a storage closet at this point. Washer and dryer against one wall, and a shelving unit against the other, jammed tight with plastic tubs. It took a bit of searching, but after shoving the bottle of detergent and other odds and ends aside, he found a little door in the wall hardly bigger than a microwave.

Movies had him picturing it much bigger, big enough for kids to ride in at least. It wouldn’t have been the first time that movies had lied to him. Disappointed, he opened the door and looked up into the hole awkwardly, seeing faint edges of light somewhere above. 

“Hello up there.”

“Hello down there.” Nick’s voice came much clearer than it had through the door. “Watch your hands, dog leash coming down.”

With the rusty sounding squeak of pulleys long out of use, the small box made its way down to Dean carrying one leash and a crumpled ten dollar bill.

“The money’s for cigarettes.” Nick’s voice carried oddly though the narrow shaft. 

“Those are bad for you, ya’ know?”

“What are you, my mom?”

Dean laughed and hated that the other man probably heard it.

“Just be a doll and buy me a pack while you’re out. Marlboro Reds preferably.”

Shoving the money into a pocket Dean smiled, “Give me some cash for lunch and you got yourself a deal, Nicky.”

Grumbles were mixed with the squeaking of the little dumbwaiter going up, and then coming back down with a twenty. 

“Have a good lunch and if you call me Nicky again I’ll hurt you.”

Dean grinned and added the money to his pocket, fearless because unless he took himself up the outside staircase he saw absolutely no way for the strange man to carry out that threat.

The dogs didn’t seem to mind their early walk, and happily greeted every pretty woman they came across. Dean made it home with only four phone numbers, so it wasn’t a perfect equation of double the dogs―double the women. But for a first trial, he wasn’t about to complain. The three of them would take a different route tomorrow and see if the locals were a bit more receptive.   

Refilling the water bowl and setting a second one out for Loki, Dean went out to the garage (which was disgustingly hot already) and sent the pack of cigarettes and a some miscellaneous coins up the dumbwaiter. It was dead silent up there, like every afternoon, and he figured this most likely meant that Nick was sleeping off the day. 

Let him sleep.

Dean could own two dogs for the day. 

Feeling every bit like a single father, he pulled out the basket of toys and spent nearly an hour tossing a small squeaky ball down the hall for the dogs to chase until both gave up and tucked up together on the couch. Joining them, Dean spent his afternoon divided between catching up on some daytime television and texting with the prettiest girl that he’d met during today’s walk. 

He didn’t even realise that he’d fallen asleep until the ringing phone woke him. 

Clumsy thumb sliding over the flashing green phone on his screen, Dean croaked a groggy, “Yeah?”

“Heya, Dean. Did I wake you up?”

“Sammy?” His eyes drifting close, Dean grinned. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, man. It’s great. It’s absolutely beautiful,” Sam gushed, laughing. “You’d love it.”

There were some doubts about that. Dean wasn’t the type to enjoy any kind of vacation that required vaccinations before hand. The idea of backpacking across jungles really wasn’t his thing. “Not for nothin’, but aren’t you supposed to be climbing some ruins right about now? How the hell do you have cell signal?”

“We’re checked into a hotel for the next few days. There was a summer storm and a mudslide that took out the road so we’re stuck.”

“Good stuck, or ‘this sucks I can’t believe we’re stuck’ stuck?”

“It’s… um, it’s the good kind.”

“Right on.” Dean tried to sit up, only to realise he had two dogs laying on top of him. “Your daughter is doing fine, since I’m sure you actually called to check on her.”

“Yeah? Cookie’s being good for you?”

Scratching the nearest velvety soft dog ear, Dean nodded. “Her and the dust mop from upstairs. I somehow ended up dog-sitting him too.” And it wasn’t as if he intentionally liked to stir up trouble, but Dean was almost nearly positive that his brother was off on a romantic vacation with the guy from upstairs and it only seemed fair to give him a chance to admit it. “Apparently Gabe is off on a job thing for the next few weeks.”

“...oh yeah?”

“Yeah, and his brother, Nick? He said the furry kids could have a playdate.”

Sam got quiet enough that the ambient noise on his end of things started to come over the phone line. Distant voices, maybe a TV running. “You’ve been talking…  to Nick?” He finally asked, sounding very odd. “Are you sure?”

“What do you mean,  _ am I sure?  _ Yeah. I’m sure. He’s a bit of a smart ass, and kinda,” Dean couldn’t use ‘weird’ because that didn’t feel like a big enough word to encompass last night and this morning’s conversations. “He’s somethin’ else, man.”

It stayed pretty quiet on Sam’s side of the phone.

“You still there, Sammy?”

“Yeah. Yeah. You and Nick, um… you two getting along?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Have you gone upstairs?”

“Not inside, no. I just bought him a package some lazy delivery man left on your porch instead of his.” Dean was waiting for his brother to say more. To add on something, anything at all about this Gabriel that Sam had very quickly skirted around. Sounds over the phone were muffled, and very suddenly Dean realised that his brother had covered the receiver and was talking to someone else on his side of things. “Sammy? You still there?”

“Y-yeah. I’m here. Sorry.” Sam laughed at it was definitely awkward. “Hey. Do me a favor, ok?”

“Sure.” Dean had never been able to tell his little brother no.

“Don’t… don’t talk to Nick too much. He’s trouble.”

Not that Dean could confirm or deny that accusation, still he had to point out, “I thought you said you’d never met him.” Because Nick sure as hell had never met Sam.

“I haven’t,” his brother admitted softly before stumbling over his words, “but Gabe’s told me a lot about him. It’s probably a good idea to just pretend he’s not up there. Alright?”

From his weirdly slumped position on the couch, Dean could just barely see the stairs that went to nowhere. 

And it was very possible that Nick was some kind of trouble. But so was Dean. So was Sam for that matter. 

If only Dean was able to be direct about important things, then he’d be able to come straight out and ask if Sam’s request was to try and hide a secret boyfriend. 

Not the kind of conversation to have over the phone, or before Sam was ready to, or maybe not ever, because for all Dean knew it was some sort of lie made up between Nick and that girl he’d had up earlier in the week, and Sam was still as straight as the come, and on vacation with a group of friend’s like he’d said he was. 

And Sam wasn’t lying to Dean in the most backwards, shady ass way possible. 

“Yeah. Alright,” Dean finally agreed, rubbing an eye, realising that he’d given himself a headache rather quickly. 

“I’ve got to go. This call is going to be crazy expensive. Um, kiss Cookie for me. I’ll try and call again next week if I’ve got a signal. Ok?”

“Ok.”

“Bye,” was Sam’s rushed farewell.

And Dean was left saying a stunned goodbye to the dial tone resonating against his ear. 


	3. The bad night out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for coming along for this rare pair.   
> I love seeing familiar names and then some brand new friends joining us. The more the merrier, right?

Stuck under two dogs as he was, Dean found that he had a very limited range of movement. It meant that he had very little to distract himself with, and god, but he needed a distraction so he wouldn’t get his and his brother’s conversation stuck on loop running through his head. Television wasn’t enough. He needed to do something with his hands―which unfortunately meant evicting the dogs. 

“Sorry, kids,” he mumbled and stubbornly sat up to a chorus of indignant whining _. _ “Yeah, yeah. I know I’m a bastard.” Both dogs followed him around the apartment as he went from room to room looking for anything to take his mind off his kid brother lying to him. 

Maybe it wasn’t a lie exactly.

But it sure as hell wasn’t telling the truth either. 

Dean really had no room to talk, and that might have been the most annoying part of it. 

His brother may have been his best friend, but that didn’t mean that they told each other  _ everything _ . All healthy relationships need some secrets. 

The difference this time was that he actually knew he was being lied to and for some stupid reason that made it worse. 

The kitchen sink was dripping.

Just the tiniest bit. 

Dean grinned and went to see if his brother had any tools.

It was muggy and hot in the small garage, and very quickly he realised that all those plastic tubs on shelves were full of stupid and unhelpful things. Holiday decorations, winter clothes, camping gear. There was a narrow closet door half hidden behind a broom and mop and folded up stepladder (not that there could possibly be anything in the whole apartment that Sam couldn’t easily reach on his own). In a last ditch effort, before the heat could get to him, Dean pushed the odds and ends aside-- and very quickly realised that what he’d thought was a closet really, really wasn’t. 

Apparently the depressingly small size of Sam’s garage was due to the fact that, much like the home, it had once been a much larger space that had been split in two during a remodel.

The other half of the garage was significantly larger. Large enough that it held a car. Obviously not a frequently used considering it was hidden beneath a faded tarp and half a dozen cardboard boxes. 

Most likely the things in here belonged to the upstairs weirdos, and not Sam, a fact which in no way stopped Dean from poking around. First things first, before looking to see if there were any tools that no one wouldn’t mind him borrowing, he needed to take a peek at what sort of vehicle was tucked away beneath the tarp. Someone’s car and how they treated it said a lot about a person. 

Lifting the tarp, he felt an involuntary sound catch in his throat, and not knowing which of the upstairs jerks owned the car, Dean was left with very mixed feelings. It was a battered and old yellow Aston Martin, though he knew very little about British cars so he couldn’t say what year. Mid-seventies was his best guess.  There were tears in the upholstery and the windshield looked like it had more cracks than functional glass. It was sort of depressing to see such an iconic car looking absolutely forgotten. Like seeing pictures of a badly aged rock star from his childhood.

He dropped the edge of the tarp, making himself stop gazing at the poor old thing. The quest for tools continued, and like striking gold he found a whole cabinet full. Knowing no one would even notice them gone, he filled his arms with whatever he thought he needed before heading back to Sam’s side of the house and getting to work. 

Maybe about half an hour into fixing the sink (with a lot of the opposite of ‘help’ from the dogs), the knocking started.

Sitting up, making sure not to smack his head on the underside of the kitchen counters, Dean looked to the stairs. “Yeah?”

“Is your water off too?”

Dean rubbed sweat from his forehead. “Yeah. I turned it off so I could fix the sink.”

“What?”

He got to his feet, getting closer to the stairs so he could more properly yell up at the door. “I said I turned it off while I’m fixing the sink.”

That long quiet answered Dean, and he sighed in annoyance. 

“I’ll turn it back on in a bit, dude.”

“... I was going to take a bath.”

Frowning, Dean squinted up at that door between them. “First off, only old people and little kids take baths. Second―in this heat? It’s fuckin’ like people soup, man. Just sittin’ there stewing in your own juices. How can you take a bath when it’s in the triple digits outside?”

Dean had no idea why he expected any kind of answer to that, “I’ll turn it back on in a bit,” he repeated to the silent door and with an annoyed sigh he decided to take the resounding silence as a ‘go ahead’.

Lowering himself down to the kitchen floor, leaning back beneath the sink he could only faintly hear the upstairs neighbor.

“How long’s a bit?”

“A few minutes,” Dean shouted and then grumbled and refit the washers into place, already having done so much more maintenance than tightening the faucet to stop the dripping. Sam probably wouldn’t even notice... to be completely honest with himself, he doubted he’d even notice the difference. 

But at least for a half an hour he hadn’t thought about Sam and Sam’s weird little secret relationship. 

“Hey, man,” he hollered at the stairs.

“Bath time?” The very quick question came, and Dean got the impression that Nick might have been waiting at the door the whole time. 

“Yeah. Hey, before you go simmer in your bath oils or whatever the hell, um, how long have our brothers been…”

“Fucking?”

“I was going to go with  _ dating _ ,” Dean said a little too fast, eager to remove the sudden unwanted mental image.

The door creaked softly under the weight of the other man. “I don’t know the details, because I don’t care, but a couple weeks after your Sam moved in they started sleeping together, so the dating was probably round about the same time.” 

“So, basically for the whole two years that Sam’s been out here.”

“Yeah.”

Dean ran his hands over his face and took a slow breath.  “Wait, so they’ve been together for two years and you’ve never met my brother?”

Very softly, the man upstairs sighed. “I don’t like meeting new people.”

“At this point he’s not really new.”

No reply.

Dean sank to the stairs, leaning back on his elbows. “And they didn’t tell you they were going away together?”

“Gabriel…” Nick may have actually laid down beside the door for how clear and close his voice came when he finally answered, “he doesn’t leave me unless it’s for work.”

Narrowing his eyes at the door, Dean frowned. 

“And he knows I hate his boyfriend―” 

Dean found the ability to frown even harder.

“―so I guess he lied about the trip being for work. Or maybe it really is for work and he just took Sam along for company. I don’t care which, and I’m not answering his phone calls so he can explain it to me.”

“You  _ hate  _ Sam?” It was impossible to imagine anyone hating Dean’s brother, especially someone who had never even met him. “We’re still talking about the same Sammy, right? My brother, the human golden retriever?”

“Look, it’s nothing personal. You listen to anyone screwing  _ your  _ little brother for two years and you tell me how much you like ‘em.”

As arguments went, that was a damn good sounding one. 

“Yeah… ok. I can get that.”

The door groaned softly and Dean braced himself, wincing. He’d never get used to having someone moving around overhead. 

Footsteps shuffled off towards the kitchen space, leaving Dean to his thoughts. Not the most logical or graceful end to a conversation, but he’d take it. The stairs were digging into his lower back and he could tell that his body would be giving him hell for laying up here like this, but he needed a few minutes to get his thoughts together.

Two years was a really long time.

That was nearly a hundred phone calls between him and Sam. Week’s worth of the kid coming home to visit. All the time in the world to say anything at all.

And nothing.

A scrap of paper fluttered down very suddenly, glancing off of Dean’s face and falling soundlessly away. Sitting up, Dean found where it had landed and he looked at the phone number in confusion. The only real option here felt stupid, but still, he followed through. Pulling out his phone and dialing the number he’d been given.

The soft ringing against his ear was echoed distantly overhead.

Irritated, and not knowing why, Dean let his head fall back as he yelled up at the door, “You serious, Nick?!”

The phone call cut off without an answer, followed shortly with a text:  **this is easier for me**

“In what world is this easier?” Dean shouted up. 

A second text:  **it just is**

Dean typed out the words ‘dude what the hell is wrong with you’, but he didn't press send. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was remembering the tornado that hit Sammy’s elementary school. No one was hurt, just a little property damage and half the playground ended up in the parking lot across the street, but for weeks afterwards Dean found his kid brother sleeping in the bathtub because apparently that felt safer. 

Sometimes things happen to people and they just don’t deal in the expected ways―and today Dean had bigger problems than whatever it was that made Nick the way he was. 

So he deleted the message and laid his phone on his chest, silently congratulating himself on how nice he was being despite his current mood. “Go get that bath, Nicky, an’ you let me know if anything up there needs fixing. I’m getting bored down here with nothing to do all day.”

Water came on upstairs, a quiet kind of white noise that Dean thought he wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t been listening for it. He probably could had laid there uncomfortably on the stairs for some time if the dogs hadn’t decided it was time to go outside.

Sighing, he slid from the stairs and opened the back door. While the dogs did their business he stood on the porch and twisted awkwardly to rub the tender spot where the steps had dug into his shoulders.

“You want some help with that?”

If Dean had turned around any faster he would have hurt something. 

There, standing just inside the gate that lead around to the front of the house, was the little brunette who had made so much noise Dean’s first night here. 

“Not that I’m not happy to see your pretty face again,” he crooked a half smile, “but should I be expecting more sex-olympics tonight?”

Her grin was utterly shameless. “Dropped the kids off at their dad’s and I don’t have to be at work until ten tomorrow.”

“Good on you,” Dean chuckled, liking her directness.

“I’m Meg, by the way.” She shouldered her bag and held a hand out to him.

Dean took it and introduced himself properly before adding, “Nick’s taking a bath, so, can I offer you a drink?”

“God, he needs to get that shower fixed,” she rolled her eyes, taking out her phone and sending a quick text, before giving Dean a tilted sort of smile. “I’d love a drink.”

He let her in, the dogs following at their feet. Meg stopped a moment to kneel down and give them both good scratches, whispering the sorts of things that all women seemed to whisper to the dogs when Dean was out on walks. 

Smiling, he went to the fridge. “I’ve got water and… beer.”

“Oh, honey. Never drink the water here in LA unless you have a death wish.” She kissed Loki between the ears and stood straight, making herself not even as high as Dean’s shoulder. 

“That’ll be one beer for the little lady then,” he pulled one from the fridge and opened it on the edge of the counter before handing it over and opening a second one for himself. “So… you and the weirdo upstairs?”

She sat at the table, stretching out her legs and letting the dogs sniff at her flip flops. “Me and ‘the weirdo upstairs’ what?”

“Dating?”

“Just friends.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, but didn’t mention the obvious benefits that those friends seemed to be sharing. 

“Good friends. We met back in highschool when we found out we were dating the same girl.” She pushed her wavy brown hair back behind an ear,  a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “And that’s the sort of thing that can really bring two people together.”

Very together, from what he remembered hearing, but it was none of Dean’s business and so instead he smiled. 

“How long are you house sitting for?”

“Another three weeks-ish.” He leaned on the counter, enjoying talking to another human that he could actually see. “Hey, what kind of guy is this son of a bitch who’s dating my brother?”

She nodded, tilting her chin towards upstairs. “Gabe?”

Dean grunted.

“He’s a real smart ass, like Nick. A little more childish maybe,” she laughed before taking another swallow of beer, “but he’s not a bad guy.”

That was good to hear and Dean let go of some tension he didn’t know he’d been holding on to. 

“I’ve only met Sam a couple times, some mornings he’s out with Cookie when I’m headed to work, or off to pick up my daughters, but he seems like a nice kid.”

“He’s the best kid.”

“I like that. That protective big brother-ness,” she rested the edge of her beer bottle against her lip, “it’s sweet.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep himself from smiling at her. “Yeah, well.”

Her phone chimed and she glanced down at it. “Ah, the big ol’ teddy bear said he unlocked the front door for me.”

‘Teddy bear’ absolutely did not fit the mental image that Dean had for the man upstairs. 

“Thanks for the drink, Dean-o.” Meg got to her feet, just this bite sized little thing with faint dimples. “We’ll try to keep it down for you tonight.”

He winked, shooting at her with a finger gun, laughing softly when she winked back and let herself out. He couldn’t hear her head up the outdoor staircase, or open the door, but he dimly heard two voices upstairs.

That very small bit of human interaction apparently hadn’t been enough for him as he stood there in the kitchen, watching the ceiling and feeling jealous. When he’d agreed to house sit he’d anticipated cleaning up after the dog, taking in the mail, weird California hippies with their pilates and wheatgrass. What he hadn’t seen coming was the loneliness. He was a social person. He liked human interaction. And standing down here, listening to those humans interacting overhead, he was nothing short of lonely. 

Luckily, Dean knew one sure fire cure for lonely.

After making sure that the dogs had food and water, he took an Uber to the nearest bar. 

The place had a little too much neon and pop music for his tastes, same for bar number two. However, bar number two was having a ladies night, and like hell was he going to pass up on that one. So for a couple of hours he didn’t mind the neon, or the god awful music playing. The girls out here in LA were as pretty as they were plentiful and Dean found himself all kinds of good company. Flirting was just as good as talking, if not better, and every gorgeous girl he bought a drink for seemed to be an aspiring actress with a boring day job just to pay the bills until she was discovered.  

There had been one woman in particular, with very long hair and very tight leather pants. Her name had been Rose or Lily or Violet… some kind of flower. Dean couldn’t remember. The music been blasting far too loud to talk, so they’d kissed while she waited for her friends to come back from the bathroom.

She’d also taken his wallet.

Waking up on Sam’s couch with a throbbing hangover, Dean found that he really, really remembered the moment from the night before when he’d realised too late that Rose’s hands skimming over his hips and ass had actually been a distraction. 

Attractive pickpockets aside, he had no idea how he got back to his brother’s place. 

Groaning, Dean sat up, gently pushing Cookie off him.

After downing some water and a handful of Tylenol, he finally noticed that the back door was open a crack and Loki was gone. The dog wasn’t in the yard, but the gate wasn’t open, so maybe the fluffy little guy just went home.

Groggily, eyes watering from the intense levels of morning sunlight, he pulled out his phone to text upstairs. It didn’t look like he needed to send any messages though, seeing as he’d sent oh so many the night before. 

From the look of it he’d been drunk texting Nick. A lot. Very garbled and confused messages filled his phone. The clearest of which read: 

**Wkatis is a the hpuse number**

But there were roughly a dozen texts sent before that one, before Nick demanded that Dean take a picture of the outside of the bar he was at. Drunk Dean seemed to have sent a few blurry pictures of his own face, his thumbs, the sidewalk, some girl’s very sparkly high heels, and then the neon lit club front.  

Nick had directed Dean to stay where he was, and that Meg would be there in a bit to pick him up. 

Considering Dean was here in the house, he’d just have to assume that the rescue mission had been a success. Laying heavily back onto the couch he only hoped that he’d manage to be at least some sort of gentleman to his rescuer. Throwing an arm over his eyes, Dean did his best to fall back asleep, his body in no mood to be upright.

And Dean might have been more successful if it hadn’t been for the soft sounds upstairs.

“Shhh,” he hissed uselessly.

The stifled moaning continued.

“Oh my god, you two,” he raised his voice, wincing as his headache spiked. “Not right now.” 

Which apparently was an invitation to go from barely audible to very staged, overly dramatic sounds of pleasure from that delicate female throat and a startled bark of laughter from Nick. 

If he didn’t feel like his head was full of nails, than Dean might have laughed. “I really doubt he’s  _ that _ amazing, Meg. You can tone it down.”

More laughter answered him, from both jerks up there.

Threaded through Meg’s pleasantly throaty laughter came “Oh, Nick. Nick. God, you _ are _ that amazing.”

“Great.” Dean grumbled, pressing his arm harder against his eyes in an effort to push the pain in his skull back. “Thank you.” He was fairly certain that they couldn’t hear his mutterings, but he was also absolutely certain that if they could it wouldn’t have made them shut up.

Nick’s voice joined Meg’s, but too low to make sense of his words aside from a gentle rumble of content sounds and oddly Dean’s name on the edge of a very deliberate moan.

Arm coming away from his eyes, and confused heat suddenly blistering the base of his throat, Dean looked up at the ceiling.

Thankfully he didn’t have to say anything. Meg had it covered.

“ _ Dean _ ?” She practically sang the name, giggling, followed by a distinct sound of skin hitting skin. A light slap maybe. “Excuse you, but that is not my name.”

More of Nick’s growling laughter before he spoke loud enough for all three of them to hear, “I figured if he’s got to listen he can at least feel like he’s part of the group.”

“You’re so thoughtful, Nick.” Their floor, Dean’s ceiling was thumped on by either a heel or a fist, before Meg asked, “Isn’t he so thoughtful, Dean?”

Dean covered his face with both hands, taking a slow, suffering breath before raising his voice, “I will give you anything if you two just  _ stop _ .”

Mercifully, they quieted down. Still, Dean had his suspicions that they were up there going at it, but at least he couldn’t hear more than an occasional little sound that was easy enough to ignore. Sleep came around the time the Tylenol kicked in and he didn’t wake again until Cookie started pawing at him, her nails surprisingly sharp through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“Yeah, yeah. Ok,” he grumbled, throat feeling raw as he got to his feet and pulled the back door open enough to let her out. He’d slept through all of the morning and half of the afternoon, which meant that the summer heat had crept inside with no air condition on to keep it at bay.

Dean stood on the tepid tiles, sweating as he waited for Cookie to finish her business and trot back inside. Apologizing to the dog for missing her breakfast, Dean put food in her bowl, locked the back door, and took himself a long shower. Next order of business was cranking up the air conditioner, getting dressed and finally feeding himself.

The cereal bowl balanced awkwardly on his knees as he sat on the stairs, damp hair almost brushing the door above him. He knocked lightly before digging into his light lunch, waiting to see if anyone answered.

Unfocused, Dean ate, feeling like a bit of a mess from last night’s adventure. 

Somewhere on the other side of the apartment he heard the text notification on his phone go off. 

“ _ Niiiick _ ,” he threw his head back as he sighed up at the door. “Come on, man. I’m eating. I can’t text.”

Maybe a whole minute passed before a sound settled above him, the door creaking softly. “So, you’re not dead?”

“Feel dead,” Dean smiled around his spoon. “Thanks for getting me home, or whatever.”

“Only because if you went missing police might have come here to the house and I’d have to talk to them.”

“And you’re not much of a talker.”

“No I am not.”

“You’re doin’ fine.”

“Gee,” Nick drawled in a rather annoyed tone. “Thanks.”

Dean grunted, because he’d been trying to be supportive or whatever, but if it wasn’t wanted he was more than happy to just not. 

Something clattered lightly against the door, a couple times before Nick asked, “Meg said someone stole your wallet?”

Not a reminder that Dean particularly wanted, but one he needed nonetheless. “Yeah. Shit. I need to cancel my cards.”

“Should have done that last night.”

“Yeah, well, drunk me wasn’t having those kinds of complicated thoughts apparently.” Dean set his half finished bowl of cereal on the steps and went to find his phone, not at all feeling bad for just abandoning Nick mid conversation. 

An hour later, feeling exhausted in a new sort of way, Dean finally got off the phone with his bank and the credit card company. During that time Cookie had been kind enough to finish his lunch for him, so he took the empty bowl from the stair and put it in the sink.

“How you doin’ up there, Nicky?”

“Stop calling me that.” The other man’s voice came from back at the door.

“You still there?”

“Where else would I be?”

Dean looked over at the door that went nowhere, smiling in spite of himself. “I mean you’re at the top of the stairs still. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Fuck you,” a rattling yawn threaded through the words, “Winchester.”

Ginning, Dean returned to his usual perch on the steps, where he could lean back and flick the dangling padlock. “Did you fall asleep on the door, Nicky?”

“Don’t make me go looking for the key so I can come down there and smack that smug right out of your voice.”

“I would love to see you try.” He folded his arms over his chest, grinning. “I’ll even look for the key to this side just to make it easier for you. That’s how not afraid of you I am.”

There was all kinds of grumbling, and suddenly the door knob rattled.

If Dean jumped a little, no one was there to see it, so his dignity was kept in tact. He laughed and flicked the lock again. “Dude, I would  _ love  _ to arm wrestle you.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever said those words to me.”

“Just you wait,” Dean hummed, “I will threaten to do all kinds of things to you that no one’s ever threatened you with before.”

“You know, as much as I don’t know your brother and still manage to hate him on principle, I think I might hate you a little more right now.”

Dean laughed at the less than subtle teasing. “Aw, shucks. You sure know how to make a guy feel real special, Nicky.”

“Right now, I’m visualizing my hands around your throat,” Nick said in an almost dreamy sort of tone, “and I’m squeezing slowly, and you’re not saying that nickname anymore.”

“Really, that’s not how I imagine it going, Nicky.”

“Alright, can I talk you into going to the garage, getting the bolt cutters, sending them up to me in the dumbwaiter, so I can just cut the lock off this damn door open, and come down there and hurt you?”

“Tempting,” Dean sang softly, and then remembered something from yesterday, which now felt like a year ago. “Hey, is that your Aston Martin in the garage?”

Nick came right back to that long and uncomfortable silence he was so good at.

“I was getting some tools to fix the sink. I put ‘em back, so no worries. But, dude, that’s a seriously gorgeous car,” minus the damage of course.

“Gabe was supposed to sell her.”

“ _ Sell _ her?” He’d never heard such blasphemy. 

Nick mumbled for a while, and Dean instantly imagined all sorts of uncomfortable fidgeting to go along with the sound. 

“The damage didn’t look too bad.”

“Yeah, well. I can’t really come down there and fix her, so she’s just taking up space.”

“That sounds like quitter talk.” Dean heard himself say the words and realised that part of him was imagining his brother up there. He had no idea what Nick looked like and apparently Dean’s helpful mind had simply assigned a familiar face to go along with the familiar feeling teasing. “I mean… cars are kinda’ my thing. I’ve got three weeks left here and nothing to do, if you want some help I―”

“I’m going to bed.” 

Dean pushed himself up on his elbows. “W-what?” 

“I don’t want to talk about the car, so I’m done talking.”

“Yeah. Ok.” He frowned, but at himself for a change. “Sorry?”

Nick grunted and the floor under him creaked over Dean’s head, and apparently that was the end of their conversation. He sat there and listened to the other man retreat to the other end of his apartment, and had no idea what he’d said wrong.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... do you have a preference?  
> Would you like a chapter about every 2 weeks   
> or just whenever I get them done (sometimes a few days and other times a few weeks)


	4. The first step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there, friends. Just pokin' my head out of my dark cave for a moment. Bad weather and depression sort of blindsided me and writing wasn't happening for the last couple weeks D:  
> but things are clearing up, and here's a little tiny chapter <3

**Bolt cutters are in the dumbwaiter**

Dean second guessed the text roughly eight times before finally sending it. Either a challenge or an invitation, he wasn’t sure. But he’d already removed the lock on his side of the door with no real fear of Nick actually coming down here unexpectedly. 

It was very quiet up there, had been for two days. No weird furniture moving, no odd conversations through the door.

And as stupid as it was, Dean had sort of started missing Nick.

Or at least missing having someone around to talk to. 

**Thinking pizza for lunch**

Standing there at the base of the stairs, the busted lock still a heavy weight in his pocket, Dean waited. Waited and waited and eventually sighed to himself and took Cookie for a walk before it could get too hot out. The weather app on his phone said it would be in the triple digits today, which meant it was already in the high 70s, which was disgusting considering most people were still doing their morning commute to work. 

The house was much the same when they got back, except maybe a little warmer. Dean flipped on the air conditioner, quietly amused at how steep his brother’s electric bill was going to be when he finally came home. 

Served Sam right. The dirty secret keeper.

“Hey, Nick. Does Loki wanna’ come hang out with Cookie for a bit?” He called up at the ceiling, and he didn’t know why he bothered, seeing as the other man was nocturnal and all. 

So he cleaned a little to waste some time. Tossed out the wilted veggies in the fridge and put some laundry on to wash. It was only a half load of clothes, but it was an excuse to get himself standing in front of the little door beside the detergent bottles. He knew what he would see when he opened it, but he still had to peek.

The bolt cutters were still sitting where he’d left them that morning.

A week and a half of idle time was way too long of a vacation for Dean. And though he was half tempted to go to the hardware store and get stuff to repaint all Sam’s walls some obnoxious color, Dean had never really liked painting walls. It was one of those monotonous, boring tasks and he thought that he could find a more entertaining way to waste his time. 

The boxes that had been piled up on top of the Aston Martin were all labeled with neat flowing writing saying things like ‘ _ Michael’s books- KEEP’  _ or _ ‘Michael’s school stuff- KEEP’ _ . Almost a dozen boxes and every one of them was Michael’s and every one of them was  _ KEEP _ .  __

Dean didn’t pry. Didn’t open a single one. He just moved them all carefully off the car and into neat rows against the far wall, before pulling off the tarp and folding it into a lumpy square. It was a clearer look than he’d had a few days back, and he could see the damage to the old car for what it was. 

The windshield cracks were mostly around the passenger side and the front end of the poor old girl looked like it had been wrapped around a tree, the bumper hanging lose and the front grill crunched nearly in half. The hood couldn’t close all the way, and lifting it up Dean could see that the engine mounts were sheared off, the radiator and alternator crushed. The engine itself looked ok, though all the belts were cracked and needed replacing. 

It was a place to start. 

Dean made a shopping list in his phone of all the things that he was sure he couldn’t easily find out here, and then texted it over to his uncle Bobby. Next, the old belts came off, along with the radiator hose, and he took himself down to the local auto shop. 

Even knowing that it was not his place and he would almost definitely catch hell for what he was doing, it kept him busy for most of the morning, until it was too damn hot to be outside any longer.

So then it was clothes into the dryer and a quick cold shower to rinse off the grit of sweat, and by the time he was dressed in boxers and a t-shirt he had a new text waiting on his phone.

Not from Bobby.

From Nick. 

**I’m ordering the pizza. What do you want on it**

Dean grinned at the question and went halfway up the stairs to sit and look up expectantly, like a little kid whose best friend was finally home from summer camp. 

“All pizza’s good pizza, man. Order whatever you like.”

Footsteps were clearly heard coming from one end of the house to the other, settling above Dean’s head. 

Nick’s voice sounded rough and unused like he’d just woken up. “So… pineapple?”

“I said  _ pizza _ . Real pizza.” Dean’s cheeks were already hurting from how hard he was grinning.  “Fruit doesn’t belong on a pizza, you weird California hippy.”

“So all veggies, vegan cheese, gluten-free crust…”

“Only if you want to hear a grown man cry.”

“Don’t know…” Nick either sighed or yawned and the door groaned under his weight. “I could be sort of into it.”

Dean watched the door above him and resisted the urge to retreat to a safer space. He also resisted the urge to joke about the strange sorts of things that he himself might be into. “You’re not serious about the vegan cheese, right?”

“I mean, it is a real thing.”

“What the hell is it made out of?”

“God only knows, but I’m sure it tastes like ass.”

Dean snorted and was answered with a low chuckle from the man upstairs. “How about a lot of meat, and a little veg to balance and we can pretend like we’re eating healthy.”

“Can we get extra cheese and maybe some garlic bread?”

Placing a hand to his heart, Dean felt a sudden and deep connection with Nick. “Only if you’re ready for me to tell you I think we might be soulmates.”

“I guess that depends on what you drink with your pizza.”

“Beer.” Dean scoffed as if the answer should be obvious.

Somewhere up there Nick made a soft buzzer sound. “Ooh, sorry. The answer we were looking for is Dr. Pepper.”

“You make me sad.”

“Good,” Nick did sound rather pleased with himself.

“Can I still have a beer?”

“You’re a big boy. You drink whatever you want.”

Oddly, Dean wasn’t used to being called ‘big boy’ and it twisted his smile in unexpected and confused ways. “I mean, if you’re clean and sober I don’t wanna’ make it weird for you by having a beer.”

“He said as if any part of this wasn’t already making me very uncomfortable,” Nick narrated unnecessarily.

And Dean laid back against the stairs, grinning. “So, am I going up there or are you coming down here?”

Quiet settled like a winter blanket between them. 

Pushing himself up to his elbows, Dean backpedaled quickly, “Or, you know, this arrangement like we’ve got right now is working pretty good for me.”

A whole lot more quiet.

Dean was having flashbacks to a very short lived relationship he’d had in highschool with a girl who’d just expected him to be able to read her mind and would get pissed and give him the silent treatment everytime he failed to spontaneously become psychic. 

“Sorry. I was typing in my card info for the pizza,” Nick very suddenly said, adding,  “I can’t talk and do numbers at the same time.”

“It’s fine, man.” Dean said like he hadn’t just been rolling his eyes in frustration a few seconds ago. 

Apparently, the pizza had been ordered, not surprisingly thought some kind of phone app instead of just calling the place like a normal person, and he wouldn’t push the question of where they’d be eating once the meal was delivered.  

“Hey,” Dean let his head fall back, looking up at the door like he was making some sincere eye contact (which in all actuality was so much easier than talking directly to a real person). “Everything ok up there? You’ve been real quiet the past few days.”

“I―” Nick wallowed in a little extra of that quiet he did so well before finally continuing. “I’m fine. My birthday’s next week. I guess I’ve just been thinking about it.”

“Yeah? Happy Birthday a little early. How old you gonna’ be?”

“Thirtythree.”

“Nice double digits,” Dean congratulated like you’re supposed to before joking, “I think I was imagining you a lot older for some reason.”

Nick didn’t laugh, or even sound offended. He just quietly added, almost too softly to hear, “It’s my brother’s birthday too.”

“Yeah? Same birthday? I didn’t know you and Gabe were twins.”

“We’re not. He’s younger by five years.” That noise halfway between a sigh and a yawn happened again as the man upstairs shifted around. 

“So extra brother. Nice.” Dean fumbled a bit, oddly feeling unused to talking after being relatively alone for two days. “Is he gonna come by to visit?”

“...no.”

It was a one word answer, but it somehow felt like a whole story. One that Dean wasn’t dumb enough to ask about right then. 

“Alright. Well, me and you will have to do something. Dr. Pepper and ice cream cake, because it’s hot as fuckin’ hell out here and ice cream sounds awesome― I mean, if you’re into it.”

A little too quickly the answer came, “Only if it’s mint and chip.”

“Only the mintiest and chippiest,” Dean promised, placing a hand to his heart. “My birthday present to you.”

Nick didn’t reply, but Dean liked to imagine that the other man was smiling.

The quiet came back, more comfortable this time, Dean slowly getting the hang of just how much Nick didn’t like talking. It wasn’t bad. Just different. The occasional creek of floor boards said that they were both still here, and it was sort of enough just to feel the presence of someone else in the house. 

The doorbell rang rather suddenly, and Cookie began barking excitedly to let Dean know that someone was at the door, just in case he hadn’t figured it out. 

“I told them to deliver the pizza to your place,” Nick’s words threading through the barking of both dogs, as Loki joined in from somewhere up above. “I left tip money in the dumbwaiter.”

Dean peeled himself up off the stairs and made a dash past the front door, yelling, “Just a second,” before dashing to the garage to open that tiny door, pausing when he saw that the bolt cutters were gone and all that was left was a severed padlock and a ten dollar bill. 

Smiling more than he expected, Dean gave cash to the pizza man in exchange for the flat boxes and the two liter of soda. Walking around a very excited dog, he went back to the stairs and hesitated. 

Awkward as it was going to be, he took a few steps up, set down the soda, and knocked on the door above him.

“Pizza delivery?” And Dean expected to be told to go out around back and bring lunch up through the ‘front’ door. Hoping for something here at the stairs that went to nowhere seemed like asking a bit too much of the other man for today.

But the door rattled and cracked open very slowly, just enough for Loki’s head to pop through and the scruffy little guy barked happily at Dean, then at Cookie. Dean found himself dancing awkwardly around the dogs who were far too happy to see each other. 

Too occupied with not tripping over Sam’s dog and falling down the stairs, Dean hardly took note of how dark it was on the other side of the door.

Nick huffed and chuckled very softly, an almost nervous sound to it as he asked, “Fuck, are all doors this heavy?”

“They’re definitely awkward,” Dean pressed himself against the wall as the door opened wide enough to let Loki bound down the stairs with a spring in his step. “Don’t think they’re meant to be picked up by the handle from that angle.”

The door was finally opened all the way, propped at a strange angle against something at the top of the stairs, and Dean couldn’t see Nick aside from some plaid pajama pants covered legs folded over pale feet with long toes.

“You… um, you comin’ down?”

There was a tight breath and a hesitant, “No.”

“Alright,” Dean didn’t press, just sat down where he was and opened the pizza box before setting it on a higher up step.

They ate in a friendly sort of quiet, occasionally fighting to keep the dogs away from their meal. It was honestly the weirdest lunch Dean had ever had, passing up food like passing notes back in school, trying to be sly about it like no one could see what they were doing. At the same time though, he felt oddly relaxed just having someone else nearby. He was a social person and even the small interaction helped him relax in a way that he didn’t know he’d been missing.  

It had been a large pizza, and Dean was both pleased and a touch disappointed to see that they’d managed to finish it off together. It meant no leftovers, but also a comfortably full stomach. 

Dean was too comfortable to go to the kitchen for a drink of his own, and he eyed the open two liter sitting on the top step beside Nick’s feet (it had taken nearly half an hour for them to touch the stairs and oddly Dean felt sort of victorious about).  “You willing to share that soda?”

“You afraid of germs?” Nick never got himself a glass and had just been drinking straight from the bottle this whole time

“Hell no.” Dean held his hand up expectantly, and enjoyed a long swig. Though it wasn’t his first choice, he had to admit the sweetness was nice after all that pizza. He set the bottle down somewhere between them and comfortably crossed his arms over his chest. “So, are you like a vampire or what?”

Nick laughed sharply.

“I mean, you sleep during the day, don’t go out in the sun, don’t have any lights on at all.”

“I’m not a vampire,” the man up there promised. “I… I messed up my eyes a few years back and bright lights bother them.”

“So you became a cave dweller?” Dean squinted into the upstairs and thought that maybe Nick had laid down on the floor since the indistinct shadow of him had vanished aside from those long legs that stretched down towards him.

“I was always more of a night owl,” Nick had a very smooth voice, soft and sleepy in a way that hadn’t been as obvious when the door between them was closed. “You know, I’m going to regret saying this, but pizza wasn’t a terrible idea.”

“Pizza is  _ never _ a terrible idea.”

Nick only hummed softly in response, his toes stretching as his feet slid down to the second step.

“Hey, you want me to turn off the lights down here or anything?”

There was a smile in Nick’s voice as he said, “No. It’s alright.”

Dean had always been a bit of a trouble maker, and he knew that about himself. He owned it. But he also loved to fix things. It brought a certain balance to life.

“Yesterday I looked up some stuff,” he scratched a cheek, not quite sure how to approach this one, or even if he should. “An’ it’s none of my damn business, but there’s this fear of going outside, and then there’s this other one about meeting people. Is that… is that what’s going on with you?”

Nick’s toes curled around the edge of his stair, gripping softly before being pulled back into the relative darkness of his cave. Retreating. 

“You ok, boss?”

There was no answer, which felt stranger since the door had been opened. With it closed Dean had found it easy to imagine that he was alone, but with the crook of the other man’s legs folded up just beyond the doorway, that endless quiet was so much worse than before.

“Like I said, none of my damn business,” Dean eased.

Nick pulled back further, even his legs gone now.

The lights in the downstairs apartment casting long shadows up against a decorative banister and floral wallpaper.

The other man took let out a slow breath and asked, “You ready for those rolling blackouts?”

Dean sat up a little straighter, not really able to ignore the very sudden and deliberate change in topic. He’d accept it because he had a strong feeling that if he pushed too far today he’d end up alone again. “The what now?”

“You don’t watch the news?”

A tight smile caught at Dean. “Seeing as I’m not retired, no. I don’t watch the news.”

“Supposed to be over a hundred the next two weeks,” Nick explained in that soft voice of his, nearly a whisper. “It overworks the power grid with everyone blasting their ACs all the time. So, rolling blackouts.”

“Which means?” The very sudden change in topic was easy enough to embrace. 

“The city shuts off power to different neighborhoods at night to give the system a bit of a break. Better to have small deliberate power outages than sudden and unexpected blackouts to most of the city.”

“Wow,” Dean ran a hand through his hair, letting it sink in. He didn’t know that rolling blackouts were even a thing, but he supposed with a sprawling city of this size there were bound to be different sorts of problems than back home in Kansas. “That’s really going to suck.”

Nick chuckled weakly. “Yeah well, welcome to Los Angeles, Dean. It sucks out here.”

  
  



	5. Happy Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any of y'all writers too? Do you ever get those sorts of stories where you don't have to sit and look for the words, they just come to you? I wish all writing could be as easy as this story feels.  
> I love these two idiots <3

Cookie was sleeping against Dean’s left leg, her head resting against his thigh, warm little puffs of dog breath warming knee. Loki was curled up in the shape of a meatloaf, laying on the stair between Dean’s ankles. He had no idea when he’d become the freaking dog whisperer over here, but it sure as hell made it hard to move―which wouldn’t be a big deal if the stairs weren't digging into his back. 

It was late. Dean had already come back from an evening walk with the dogs and had been surprised to see the door at the top of the stairs still open. 

Without a second thought, he’d planted himself right where he’d been for most of the afternoon, leaning back to look up into the void. 

“You  _ can _ push them off,” Nick suggested, not for the first time. 

Dean tilted his head back as much as he could on the pillow of his folded arms. He couldn’t see the other man aside from those long legs dangling over the first couple stairs once again. “Dude, I’m not a monster.”

“Suit yourself, but I don’t want to hear you complaining later about how your back hurts.”

“What, you’re not going to offer me a massage? Isn’t that what neighbors do?”

“Neighbors like our brothers? Yeah. Me and you though...?”

“Alright. Alright. Can’t just let a guy joke around?”

“Aren’t you from back east where everyone’s republican and men don’t rub each other?”

“Oh, come on, man.” A surprised laugh burst from Dean, and both dogs lifted their heads to look up at him in annoyance. 

Nick pressed on with his taunting. “I mean, obviously your brother didn’t get that memo but―”

“Don’t go bringing my baby brother into it. He’s a good kid. And love is love, you son of a bitch. As long as he’s happy, he’s happy. Don’t got nothin’ to do with being from back east, or  _ midwest _ .”

“You don’t care that he’s fuckin’ another guy?”

Dean made a face and hoped that the other man couldn’t see it. “I care that you keep saying it like that, yeah.” And he cared that Sam had chosen not to tell him about it, but that was a different problem for a different day. 

“Aw, I didn’t take you for a romantic.” Nick chuckled up there in his side of the house. “Should we call it ‘ _ making love _ ’.”

“That would be worse.”

“And less accurate, because having to listen to the two of them going out it almost every night? I can tell you it’s too damn rough and loud to be making love.”

A fact that went right to the top of the list of things that Dean wished he didn’t know. “Dude! He’s my brother.”

“And Gabe’s mine. You think I like hearing them? No.” A defeated sigh came from the top of the stairs. “I used to. Not them, you know. But the couple who lived down there before your brother moved in? That was some slow sensual sex that I could really get into.”

A small smile crept over Dean, surprising him before he fought it down and grunted, “Too much info, dude.”

Nick’s rumble of laughter said he had zero shame and was enjoying this far too much. “Yeah well, I’m sure your interests are all very boring and normal and there is absolutely no deviance anywhere in you.”

“A man’s kinks are his own damn business is all.” Dean kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling and did his best to keep his thoughts in line. “You know, something he keeps between him and whoever he’s with.”

“Wow, you sound uncomfortable. Wish I could see your face.”

“The face currently matches the voice, Nicky. Promise.”

That chuckle again, so soft and warm. “So you’re sayin’ if I asked when the next time you might invite your lady friend over that you wouldn’t be into it?” 

“Lady friend?”

“About a week ago. Didn’t stay long. She sounded beautiful.”

Dean pressed his lips in a thin, tight line, feeling warmth bloom in his cheeks. “She was a definite nine outta’ ten.”

“Brunette?”

“Yup.” Dean lightly cleared his throat. “You need some hobbies, dude.”

“I have hobbies,” Nick sounded slightly defensive. “I draw… and listen to the neighbors having sex.”

“I mean  _ good _ hobbies.”

“Hey, they are very good hobbies.”

Laughing softly, still very uncomfortable, Dean turned his face to his elbow and recollected himself. “So, um, you draw?”

“When I’m not working. Yeah.”

“That’s… that’s cool,” he turned his eyes back up to the dark. “Wait.  _ Working _ ? Like you’ve got a job? Isn’t that hard with the not leaving the house thing?”

“I’m a programer. I don’t have to leave the house.”

“Programer. Like computer stuff?”

“Is there a new kind of programer I haven’t heard of yet?”   

Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. I’m not super into techy stuff. That was always Sammy’s gig. I’m more of the salt of the earth, work with my hands, sweat of my brow, kind of man.”

“What do you do?”

“Mechanic.”

An agreeable sound came from up there. “I should have guessed. You  _ sound  _ like a mechanic.”

Laughing again, not knowing how to feel about such an accusation, Dean questioned with a gentle, “Fuck you?”

“Didn’t mean anything by it,” Nick eased, very suddenly much more subdued. “My… um, I used to know a mechanic. You’ve got that same ‘got to fix it’-ness that he did. It’s annoying as hell.”

“Yeah well. What can I say? See a problem, fix a problem.”

With a soft but happy sort of laugh, Nick added on, “Don’t know when to mind your own damn business and let things alone?”

“No I do not.”

“Yeah, just like him.”

“Is that… is that a hint of warmth I’m hearing, you weird cave dwelling... weirdo?”

“Shut up.”

“You just sound like you might have had a little thing for that mechanic,” Dean’s cheeks hurt as he grinned up at the other man’s legs. “Tell me, did he have  _ rough  _ hands?”

“You mind scooting up a few steps so I can kick you in the head?”

Dean laughed, apparently loud enough to upset the dogs because they both turned to look up at him with irritated little sounds. “Nah, man. If it’s all the same I think I’ll pass on the head trauma for tonight.”

There was some movement above Dean and he arched his back to look up and see that the other man was edging down a few stairs like he was almost afraid he would fall. One foot was raised off the step, toes stretching, searching for Dean. 

And Dean was an older brother before anything else. When he saw those unprotected toes overhead he acted without thought. Reaching up he caught that foot and ran his thumbnail over the inside curve of the arch. 

The noise ripped from the other man was both horrifying and gratifying, and Nick beat a hasty retreat all the way back up into his cave. 

“Sorry. Sorry,” Dean did a bad job of not laughing. “Come on, dude. Come back. I didn’t know you were ticklish. I said I was sorry.”

Nick had gone rouge once more, just a voice from the darkness above. “You ever hear that saying ‘you can pick your friends but you can’t pick your family?”

“Yeah?”

“Same goes for touching. You can touch yourself―but you can’t touch your neighbors.”

“That another one of those memos that my Sammy didn’t get?”

“Obviously.”

“Alright. Alright. No touching, no looking. You’re basically a ghost. I can dig it.”

A heavy silence settled on the stairs before Nick asked in a soft, almost distracted sort of way, “Is it weird if I say I’ve actually started to feel like a ghost? Like I’ve been dead for years now and I’m just stuck up here haunting someone’s attic.”

“...yeah, it’s pretty fuckin’ weird, Nick. But it feels like weird kinda’ works for you.” Stiffly, his back protesting, Dean sat up, resting a hand on Cookie’s head. 

Looking over his shoulder he could see Nick leaning up against the wall of his darkened hallway. Nothing about how the man was sitting looked relaxed, knees drawn up tight to his chest, hiding most of his face, eyes barely visible beyond a faint glint. 

“But you’re  _ not  _ stuck up there,” Dean sucked at this kind of thing. This connecting on a deep emotional level, talking about feelings sort of thing.  “This… this down here is just your downstairs, right? It’s all the same house. You can come on down without going outside... or, you know, whatever.”

“I don’t need you to try and fix me, Dean.”

“I’m not trying to fix nothin’, I’m only―”

“Thank you,” the other man cut him off with that near whisper voice of his. “For the pizza… and the bolt cutters.”

“Dude, you’re the one who paid for the pizza.”

“Shut up,” Nick said with a soft laugh that undermined the whole sentiment.

\-----

There was almost definitely something ethically wrong with what Dean was doing. Probably at least two things wrong if he actually wanted to take some time to sit down and analyze it. Lucky for his own sanity, he didn’t waste any time thinking about that sort of thing. 

He’d enjoyed Mariposa’s company last time she’d been over. And if she was more than happy to  come by with her chunky little french bull dog so Cookie could have a friend, well that was fine. 

And if she sat on the kitchen counter stealing kisses while texting a friend and watching Dean make them dinner, that was fine too. 

And if she was down to have three very satisfying rounds of sex in Sam’s bed that night, then it was so much more than fine. 

Humming softly to herself, kissing Dean’s jaw, she moved to crawl from the bed and pull a cigarette case from her discarded shorts. “Do you mind if I…” she popped the latched and held up a neatly wrapped joint. 

It wasn’t Dean’s thing and he was certain that his brother would object, but as long as she didn’t light the place on fire he was sure that Sammy would never need to know about it. “Light it up, gorgeous.”

She grinned at him, her lipstick worn off, most of her make up gone. Dean thought she was prettier this way, but he knew that most girls didn’t believe it if you told them. She planted herself down on the edge of the bed and quietly blew smoke up towards the ceiling. 

With a content sigh Dean sat up, pushing her hair aside to kiss the sweat slick skin of her neck, wondering if Nick was sweating in this heat too. Wondering if Nick was sweating for the same reasons that they were down here. With a small frown he wished that those thoughts were more alien to him, and that he hadn’t been having similar ones all night. Almost every giggle, every throaty purr, every moan of pleasure he’d drawn out of Mariposa, Dean had found his thoughts drifting to the ghost above them, curious if Nick could hear it―and if he could, what was he up there doing about it.

Dean sighed against the lovely woman’s shoulder and tried to think more normal things.  “You can stay the night if you want. I make fuckin’ amazing scrambled eggs.”

“No, papi,” she purred. “I’ve got to open at work tomorrow.”

He’d expected as much, and honestly he wasn’t even slightly bothered by her gentle ‘no’. He’d only offered because that’s what you do. You let the lady sleep over if she wants, and you make her breakfast in the morning. 

There were rose tattoos over her shoulders and Dean made a point to kiss each petal, grinning as she found one of his hands and placed it over her breast. Mumbling against her skin he offered, “Stay for a shower?”

All the while wondering if Nick would still be able to hear them if they were under the spray of water. It would just be more of a challenge, he supposed, and Dean always liked a challenge, especially one with such a capable partner.

It was a good shower, even if it was a bit bitey and the bruises on Dean’s neck might take a couple days to fade.

He paid for her Uber home and closed and locked the front door once he’d seen the tail lights disappear around the street corner. Standing there in his boxers, sleepy and content, Dean realised he had no way to ask the man upstairs if that was a suitable birthday present or not. 

In fact, the longer Dean stood there thinking about it the more he began to really question what he’d just done.  

He and Nick been speaking off and on over the last three days, progressively less and less and Dean had really noticed the way that each conversation seemed a little shorter than the last. He’d wake up, take Cookie on a walk, work on the Aston Martin until around lunch and then eagerly place himself on the steps to wait for the sounds of Nick waking up and moving around. They’d talk with the door between them and Dean wouldn’t ask why it had to be closed again. The silences up there kept stretching on and on, sometimes hours passing before Nick would answer a question. 

Contrary to what some people might say, Dean wasn’t stupid. 

The ghost upstairs was getting ready to have a birthday, and not only was his brother Gabriel not going to be there for it, neither was Nick’s  _ twin _ brother, or any family at all. 

Nick had plenty of perfectly good reasons to be withdrawn. 

Unfortunately none that Dean could fix. 

He’d been an idiot that morning, going quietly up the stairs to test the door handle, only to find it wouldn’t turn. There must have been a deadbolt or something on that side, which wasn’t surprising, but it had made Dean feel like an ass. Of course Nick would lock his side of the house when he slept. The fact that Dean had even tested it was a fucking breach of trust that he hadn’t expected from himself.

What would he have even done with if he’d been able to go up there? 

How would he explain himself to Nick?

_ Sorry, man. You’ve just been even more of a hermit than normal so I thought I’d come up here and see if you were sleeping alright. _

There was no possible way that that would have gone well for Dean. 

More out of guilt at what he’d almost done than anything else had got him looking for a good apology, and the best and easiest apologies were always gifts. Only, Dean really didn’t know enough about the other man to make a good choice on what to give him. 

So, true to form, he’d made a questionable choice.

One that was finally starting to catch up with him in the weirdness factor. 

Dean had just had sex with a beautiful woman who was very flexible, had perfectly sized breasts, and an amazing ass, and somehow he’d managed to think about the man upstairs multiple times throughout.  

Running a hand through his hair and blowing out a harsh breath, Dean looked up to the top of the stairs. He didn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything. 

So he did dishes, then stripped the bedding and tossed it into the wash. 

The kitchen clock said it was nearly two in the morning. 

A normal person would be considering sleep at this point.

But it wasn’t a normal person living upstairs. 

“Hey, Nicky―”

“Seven point five out ‘a ten!” Came the sharp reply, not even missing a beat, almost like Nick had been up there eagerly waiting for his chance.

Dean blinked, startled, frowning up at the ceiling. “Excuse me?”

“An’ stop calling me ‘Nicky’,” Nick sounded farther away than normal, harder to hear.

“Seven point  _ fuckin’  _ five?!” Dean paced, not sure where to aim his question. “Are you kidding me?  That was at least a solid eight, maybe a nine.”

The other man wasn’t at the stairs. His voice drifting down from over near the kitchen. “I’ve heard better.”

“Wow,” Dean laughed in disbelief. “Just  _ wow _ .”

Whatever Nick said in reply didn’t make it through the ceiling. 

“Where the hell are you?”

“Bathtub.”

“You and your god damned baths,” Dean hissed between his teeth in annoyance―but if anyone had asked what was bothering him he wouldn’t have been able to put it into words. “You ever think about taking a shower like an adult?”

“Shower’s been broken four years.”

Dean walked into the kitchen, raising his voice to talk up at the ceiling. “An’ you don’t fix it because?”

“Not good at fixing things. Tried once. Made it worse.”

Knowing what the answer would be, Dean still pointed out, “I could fix it for you.”

“Nope.”

“Dude, you can go to another room for an hour while I work on it.” See a problem, fix a problem. Dean was a predictable sort of man that way. “You wouldn’t even have to see me.”

It was quiet up there for long enough that Dean was almost certain that he’d nearly missed whatever answer was given. 

“I don’t want strangers in my home,” drifted down rather suddenly. 

“Not really a stranger at this point, Nicky boy.”

“You don’t get to make that decision.”

And tonight had been so nice too.

“You know what? I’m too damn tired and too damn post coital to deal with your bull shit tonight. Take care of yourself, man. If you’re up to it tomorrow I’ll buy you lunch and you can be a prickly son of a bitch at me then. Ok?”

No answer.

Literally throwing his hands up into the air, Dean gave up and left the kitchen, only to be stopped in his tracks by an odd sounding,

“Is it past midnight?” 

Dean sighed, “Yup.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

Even though Dean could already taste the regret, he nodded and offered a gentle, “Yeah, man. What d’ya need?”

“I know there’s beer down there, but do you have anything stronger?” 

“Some cheap bourbon whiskey?” Dean took a step towards the cupboard, hesitant. “And when I say cheap I mean it could double as paint thinner because my brother is a disappointment… wait, I thought you didn’t drink.”

“I can on our birthday. Just one glass for me and one for Michael.”

The same name from those boxes in the garage, and there was something in the way Nick said it, something that hurt Dean like a sucker punch. 

“One condition―you take your sorry ass to the stairs and let me drink with you. Door open.” Though Dean didn’t need a drink right then, he wasn’t about to let the other man drink alone. Not in the middle of the night, not on his birthday, and sure as hell not a double because his absent brother ‘needed’ one too. 

“But that’s three conditions,” the ghost upstairs protested with a whine.

“But I don’t have to share my booze.”

There were grumblings from upstairs, but there was also movement. 

Dead took the bottle and poured two fairly restrained glasses of whiskey, put the bottle away, and turned off all the lights except the one out on the back porch. It made the house uncomfortably dark, but Dean had been living here long enough to know his way around, and he carried the glasses with him halfway up the stairs and sat. Waiting. 

Not waiting for very long though before the door overhead creaked and groaned. 

“You need help with that, boss?”

“It’s Nick.  _ Just  _ Nick.” He propped the door open to the near pitch blackness of the upstairs apartment. “Not boss, or Nicky, or Nicky boy. My brother used to call me Nicky, and I swear to god if I have to hear you say it one more time I’m going to knock your teeth in.”

“Wow, you’re in a mood tonight.”

As hard as it was to see, Dean noticed a hand come out of the dark upstairs to the dark down stairs. Expectant.

“Drink,” and Nick managed to make the single word a demand.

“Come down here and get it,” Dean said in the least challenging way possible, keeping his voice even and soft like a question, like an offer. 

Nick slunk back into his cave. Hiding. 

Dean couldn’t help but remember nearly a lifetime back, middle of the night, sitting on the bathroom floor with his chin resting on the edge of the tub while he gently tried to coax his baby brother out. There had been no risk of tornados back then, and there was no risk of anything bad happening tonight, but it all felt the same to Dean. 

Which was oddly a good thing, because it meant that he’d done this song and dance before. It was a game of patience, a thing that Dean had plenty of when he was this tired. There was no where else he needed to be right now.

Back then Sam had come out of his safe place for ice cream sandwiches, and slowly but surely tonight Nick came out of his for bourbon.

The man took the stairs on his ass like a drunk would, scooting slowly from one stept to the next until he was clear of the horizontal doorway. Stopping a few steps higher than Dean, Nick once again held out his hand, though it was shaking this time.  

It was the first time Dean had ever seen more than just a sideways glimpse of him, and with all the lights out it wasn’t the most illuminating of first meetings. All he could really tell that he hadn’t known before was that Nick had fairly short hair, light colored. Broad shoulders and a sturdy build more like an athlete than a programer, deep set eyes, a mouth that took the shape of angry very naturally, and possibly some sort of tattoo along his outstretched arm. 

Because they’d had an undefined deal, Dean handed over one of the glasses, and leaned back against the wall with his own, waiting once more.

Surprisingly, Nick didn’t scoot himself back up into his sanctuary. He just drew his knees as close to his chest as he could, cradling his glass between his hands and took a slow drink. With a sharp hiss between his teeth, he swore.

Dean smiled behind his own drink. “I did warn you it was the cheap stuff.” 

“I’ve lost any remaining respect I may have had for your Sam.” Nick whispered before taking another sip. “This taste like a punishment.”   

“Only the best for our upstairs ghost.” Dean raised his glass and clinked it gently against the other man’s. “Happy birthday, Nick.”

It was very strange to actually see one of those long quiets take over the other man. With the door between them it had only been a resounding stillness, but watching it as it happened was just weird.

Nick tugged at his lower lip, slowly shaking his head as his eyes closed tightly. It was only when he let out a sharp breath that it was obvious that he’d been holding it in. The man raised his mostly empty glass upwards instead of towards Dean’s, as if he were toasting the ceiling. “Happy birthday, Mike.”

Dean didn’t like to think of himself as a particularly emotional or sentimental person, but right then he wanted to get up off his step and put his arms around the other man because Nick sounded broken.

Instead, hesitantly, he raised his own glass and nodded towards the missing twin brother.

“Don’t,” Nick said gently, very almost smiling. “He wouldn’t have liked you.”

And wow Dean wished that sitting here in the dark he wasn’t so distracted by how crooked but sad the other man’s smile was. 

The whiskey burned his throat and Dean coughed softly before asking, “No?”

“He didn’t like anyone.” Nick pointed at him using the same hand he’d wrapped around his glass, sort of shaking the remaining whiskey for emphasis. “Michael was a self righteous, cock sucking, son of a bitch, who criticised every fucking thing that I ever did, because nothing was ever,  _ ever _ good enough, and...  and god I miss him.”

And the past tense of all those statements hit Dean harder than he’d anticipated. Some of those pieces of the Nick puzzle slotting into place in terrible sorts of way. 

Dean didn’t know what to say.

What the hell do you say to something like that?

But he had to say something because Dean had never been able to leave a problem alone. So he hesitantly offered, “You want some company tonight?”

Nick sharply looked up from the edge of his glass, eyes going a little wide. So much unspoken emotions in this man’s every move that had been hidden by that door between them. 

“Are you…” Nick closed his mouth, lips pressing into a thin line before he tried again. “Are you asking if I wanna’ have sex?”

“ _ What _ ?” Dean’s whole body went tight as he half slid down off his step in retreat. “No?  _ NO _ . I-I mean like you-you’re always up all night and you’re obviously having a shitty time. I thought you might wanna’ watch a movie or-or I’ve got some leftover pasta in-in the fridge...?” He trailed off. 

Nick was laughing softly, “Anyone ever told you what a fuckin’ mess you are when you stay up past your bedtime and you’ve been drinking?”

“Don’t need no one to tell me what a train wreck I already know I am.” Dean grinned through his discomfort. “Shit, man, this isn’t my first late night with bad liquor and a strange man propositioning me.”

It was too dark to tell for sure, but Dean was fairly certain that the other man winked at him before finishing his drink.

With a soft sigh, Nick set his empty glass down beside his hip. “I don’t like being taken care of like I’m some kid. I don’t need a babysitter staying up with me because I’m not feeling good.”

“Yeah? How about a friend?” Dean asked, and then sat and watched the quiet taking over the man sitting up at the top of the stairs. 

Nick’s shoulders had instantly gone tight like he was bracing himself, eyes closing as he turned his face towards a shoulder. It was an incredibly defensive way to sit and collect his thoughts, what felt like a whole minute passing before he finally raised his head and said, “You leave in two weeks, right?”

“About.”

“Then you shouldn’t waste your time.”

With a grin that made his cheeks hurt, Dean proudly said, “You don’t get to make that decision.”

Nick snorted softly, an offended noise that didn’t match the faint curve at the corners of his mouth. 

“But you do get an ice cream cake in the morning, and if you wanna’ eat it on the stairs with me, cool. And if you want me to put it in the dumbwaiter instead? Also cool.”

“... I don’t know which one yet.”

“Don’t gotta’ figure it out right now.” Dean waved it off. 

Nick folded his arms around his knees, resting his chin against his wrists. It was the same sort of hiding he’d done last time they’d had the door open. He didn’t say anything. Just sat there curled up and quiet. Watching.

“Movie… pasta… late night dog walk…”

“Go get some sleep,” Nick whispered. “You look awful.”

“I think the word you were looking for there is actually ‘handsome’.”

Nick snorted again.

“Or ‘adorable’.”

“I said what I meant, Winchester. Go to bed.”

It was Dean’s turn to snort softly. He wasn’t used to being told what to do.

“I’ll be fine.”

Dean did not believe this man in the slightest.

“I will be  _ fine _ .” In the dark, Nick sat up straighter, drawing an X over his heart. “Promise.”

Even though Dean had some serious doubts, he slowly got to his feet, taking a couple steps downward so he wouldn’t be looming over the other man. “Good night?”

“Good night.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Good night, Dean.”

“Good night, Nick.”

  
  



	6. Something to Celebrate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 hello, friends.   
> I don't know how many of you have family things coming up this weekend (bleh), but nothing motivates my writing as much as the stress of an upcoming family gathering, followed by a convention in May. Should be painting, but instead here I am slowly shoving two silly boys closer together ^^  
> Hope everyone else is having a chill sort of spring break (if that's something that you have??) otherwise, hope that your week's been treating you well.

“Oh.My.God.”

The unexpected company startled Dean, and as he stood the underside of the hood connected with the back of his head with an angry  _ thunk _ . Swearing softly, he curled forward, looking up from under his arm to see Meg standing at the end of the driveway in a set of purple nurse’s scrubs. 

“Nick is going to  _ kill _ you,” She was approaching the car and mechanic slowly, her eyes wide behind her sunglasses. “I mean, first he’s obviously going to just destroy Gabriel for keeping the car. But you’ll be a close second in that small murder spree.”

Rubbing the back of his head, Dean grunted as sarcastically as a person could grunt. “He lives at a computer desk. I’m not exactly shaking in my boots at the thought of those strong typing fingers.”

Meg pushed her glasses up to the top of her head, leaning close to look at the new and perfect windshield that Dean had installed the day before. “Honey, Nick was a boxer before the accident,” she moved slowly around the car, folding her arms up under her chest, “and I tell you what, that man’s kept in shape.”

And Dean wasn’t wholly sure that he believed that.

He watched Meg finish her lap around the car, the small woman slowly shaking her head before looking at Dean.

“You do all this by yourself?” That same horrified tone still in her voice, arguing with the wide smile she wore.

“Well, you know,” Dean grinned, “Cookie’s been doing most of the work, but she lets me help.”

Very nearly laughing, Meg slid her sunglasses back into place, hiding from the bright morning light. “Not that you’re not making the old girl look beautiful again, but you should put her back where you found her before Nick finds out it’s even here.”

“He already knows. I found it a little after I got here and I asked him about it.”

“... and?”

“And he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m sure as shit he didn’t want to talk about it.” With a soft sigh she shook her head, for just a moment looking oh so sad before smiling tightly at Dean.

He glanced back at the car, mentally going over the repairs that he’d done so far. This morning he’d replaced the steering wheel and had been fairly horrified by the rust colored stains down the steering column. Someone had tried to clean it up, but hadn’t done a great job. “Nick was the one driving, wasn’t he?”

“I see someone’s been playing Nancy Drew since I was last here.”

Dean hadn’t been snooping. He just wasn’t stupid. “It’s his birthday. We had drinks on the stairs last night. We talked.”

“First off, Gabriel is a complete ass for leaving him alone this time of year. I don’t care if Nick told him to go, because Nick is obviously not in a fit mental state to make choices like that.” She shook her head, running a hand through her hair, obviously venting a feeling that she’d been sitting on for a while. “Second, I obviously can’t supervise the two of you and whatever you boys decide to get up to when you’re alone. You’re both adults. But for the love of God, don’t let him drink. Don’t bring up his dead brother. And  _ please  _ don’t mess with his dead brother’s car.”

Dean hated being told what to do. 

Just the fact that anyone was telling him what to do made him want to do the exact opposite, regardless of it all being very reasonable advice. 

Meg seemed to be able to see that defiance on his face, because she sighed and took his arm (not even flinching at how sweaty he was from being out here working), and started to lead him into the house. “Mike was driving. They were both drunk. We don’t know what happened other than they went off the road and it was a couple hours between the crash and when someone finally saw the headlights off in the woods and called the paramedics. You wanna know mine and Gabe’s theory though?”

Actually, Dean did not. He wanted more time to process the fact that Nick had been alone in a car with his dead brother for hours before help came. His imagination making up images of being stuck in the Impala with his own brother, too hurt to move, not able to help either of them―and Dean felt sick to his stomach. 

“We think Nick had been having second thoughts about a recent break up with this complete son of a bitch fuck boy that we’d all been trying to convince him for a year to break up with. We think Mike had taken him out as a distraction. But like I said, Nick had been drunk off his ass, so he’s always said he had no idea how they got there. Which I believe, Gabe doesn’t, and either way Nick is fucked up about it so we leave it alone.” She lead them into the apartment and to the fridge, pulling out two beers. “And if you’re any kind of decent human being, you’ll leave it alone too.”

Dean took one of the beers from her hand, popping the top on the counter’s edge as he sighed and slowly leaned against her. There was no meaning behind the movement, he just needed the extra bit of support while he thought. 

Meg fit comfortably against his side, their arms linked as they worked on their beers in silence. 

He didn’t know this woman aside from the fact that she was Nick’s friend and that she honestly seemed to worry about him. Whether or not he (or Nick) wanted, at some point Dean had slid into that same category. 

And wow, but he didn’t know how to feel about that here in the light of day.

“I promised him ice cream cake for his birthday,” Dean found his eyes drifting to the closed door at the top of the stairs. 

“Mint and chip?”

He smiled into his beer. “Is there any other kind?”

“You know, I think you might be good for him.”

“Says the little hottie who comes over to play doctor with him once a week.”

“You really get him on to the stairs last night?”

“Only a few steps.”

She looked up at him with this sideways smile. “He’d texted me a while back about taking the lock off and opening the door so you two could talk. I didn’t know he’d actually braved the steps.” 

Dean fidgeted uncomfortably at the quiet awe in her voice. “It was just the easiest way to share a drink,” he frowned at his feet.

“If you both wanna’ underplay it, that’s your own business. But I’m the one who has to do damage control afterwards, so please just take it easy and don’t push him too hard. Ok?”

“What damage control? He’s fine.”

“Fine? You are exactly like a grandma giving candy to a little kid right before handing them back to their parents. Nick’s ‘ _ fine’  _ last night is not the same sort of ‘fine’ he’s going to tell me he is once Gabe and Sam come home you go back to wherever the hell you came from.”

“Kansas.”

Her eyes went round in surprise. “ _ Kansas _ ? Could you be any further away?”

Far away or close wouldn’t really make much of a difference and he knew that. “I hardly know the guy. He’s not gonna’ miss me when I’m gone.”

Meg laughed.

Dean didn’t know why. 

In the long run, he sort of resented the woman for coming over that day. Yes, it was nice to have another human to talk to. No, he didn’t like how easy it was to just hand the ice cream cake off to her so she could take it in through the front door and save Dean the efforts of coaxing the sideways door open. 

Why didn’t he have front door privileges too?

Eating leftover pasta for dinner, sitting with Cookie who was not allowed to have noodles no matter how much she whined, Dean decided to try and feel good about the fact that he was the only one who got to use the door at the top of the stairs. Small condolences when he could hear the muffled sounds of sex over the television show he was watching at a rather high volume. 

The procedural murder mystery show had a hard time holding his attention, even still, Dean almost missed his phone ringing. It almost sounded like part of the episode, except no one was reacting to the ringtone. To the ringtone set for when his brother called. 

Scrambling up from his seat on the couch to sprint into the kitchen where his phone had been charging, Dean hit the green phone button. “Sammy!”

“Dean?” Sam was hard to hear. “It’s really loud there.”

“Yeah, sorry.” With the remote control still broken and not yet replaced, Dean had to manually use the buttons to crank the volume all the way down. “Hey. Better?”

“Yeah,” even in that single word it was easy to hear how happy Sam was. “How’s it going?”

“Cookie’s fine.” Dean couldn’t help but smile. It was just too good to hear his brother’s voice―and less good to hear the noises upstairs more clearly. With a sigh he let himself out into the backyard and winced at the smothering heat that pushed back against him. “I’m alright too. How’s Mexico? How’s your boyfriend?”

It was just a normal and natural question that rolled off the tongue and for a moment Dean had no idea why Sam was so dead silent on the other end of the line.

“Sammy, you still there?”

“Y-yeah. I’m here… and I’m fine… so is Gabe?”

Dean made a face at the answer sounded so much like a question, and only then remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know about his brother’s delinquency. But if Sam could just uncomfortably roll with it, then Dean could too and maybe it was a deep conversation that they never needed to have. “Good to hear. Neither of you lost in the forests or ancient ruins or whatever?” 

“I think I’m too tall for anyone to lose me,” Sam laughed a tight sort of laugh before adding, “I’ve gotten separated from Gabe a few times, but all I have to do is listen for him. He’s loud for such a small guy.”

Dean may have laughed at that as he barely resisted the urge to make a comment on Sam’s apparently ‘small’ boyfriend. “You missing home yet, or still having the time of your life?”

“I… it’s been an amazing trip.” Sam laughed and it sounded odd.

Sinking down to the edge of the porch, Dean shifted the phone to his other ear. “You drunk?”

“No.”

“You sound drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. I’m… I’m just really happy.”

“Alright,” he nodded, not entirely believing that anyone could be  _ that  _ happy about a vacation without alcohol being involved. 

“Ok, I’d just wanted to call and check in,” Sam said in a sudden rush that felt a lot like he’d called for a different reason.

“Haven’t burned the place down yet.” 

“I appreciate that. Oh, Gabe’s off the phone. I’ve got to go.”

“Take care, man.”

“You too. Bye.”

Dean repeated the word and sighed into the quiet on the other end of the line. If it wasn’t so overwhelmingly hot outside then Dean might have stayed out on the porch for a while longer to collect his thoughts. Already sweating through the back of his shirt, he slid open the back door and scowled at the silence. 

The air conditioner was off, so was the oscillating fan over the table. The television was dark and every light out. Cookie clicked towards him over the tile floor, snoofing his fingertips until Dean scratched between her ears. 

“What the hell, girl?”

She  _ boofed _ softly at him and wandered outside.

The upstairs was quiet too, so Dean didn’t feel like he was interrupting anything when he yelled up at the ceiling, “hey! What’s with the power?” 

With only a little bit of a pause, Meg answered, “Rolling blackouts, Nancy Drew.” 

“When does the power come back?”

Quiet for a bit, almost like he was talking to Nick, and then the woman answered, “Nick thinks five.”

“And he’s not answering because?”

“Because he just got off the phone with his brother and he’s too mad for words.”

That didn’t sound like the Nick that Dean knew. 

Then again, Dean really didn’t know the other man all that well. 

Just like he didn’t really know Meg, but still he was suddenly uneasy at the thought of someone as small as her alone with anyone who was ‘too mad for words’ “You good up there, Meg?”

“Yeah,” there was a lot of confidence in that word, but she still added, “might bring you down some of that cake, since it’s going to melt otherwise.”

A few minutes later the door between the stairs was being pulled open, Loki and Meg spilling down into Dean’s apartment. She had changed out of her scrubs, now wearing just a baggy tshirt and boxers, looking nearly edible and Dean had to check those thoughts. 

“Hey,” he grinned, making good solid eye contact. “Still everything ok?”

“ _ Pssh _ ,” she set the cake on the counter and looked back at him. “He may look big and scary, but he’s a kitten.”

“I’ll take your word on it.” Dean still hadn’t really seen the other man properly enough to agree or disagree on the ‘scary’ factor, but he’d noticed that the man tended to curl up on himself in a way that was pointedly the opposite of big and scary. “As long as you’re ok.”

“More than fine. Happy for Gabe and Sam. Nick will come around. Where are the plates?”

Hesitating, Dean pulled down two plates, frowning. “What about Gabe and Sam?”

She’d found a large spoon and served them both up a helping of the already melting ice cream cake. “Sam didn’t call you? Gabe said that he was.” The spoon went in her mouth and she pulled up the tshirt to take her phone from the waistband of her obviously pilfered boxers. “Your brother’s such a chicken―no offence.”

“None taken?” Dean picked up one of the bowls and found a spoon for himself. 

“You don’t look like an instagram sort of guy,” and she tipped the phone so Dean could see it. “So here you go. This is how Nick found out, and he’s  _ pissed _ .”

He had no idea why this woman was being so difficult and not just saying what she meant, but he took the phone and peered at it in the dim kitchen. There was a grinning blonde man with shaggy hair hanging in his face. Another man, a much taller man, standing behind him, leaning over to kiss the blonde’s hair. They were holding hands tightly up beside the short guy’s cheek. It was a fierce looking hug and an staggering amount of joy going on. 

“And this is… Gabe?”

“What’s it say under the picture?”

Dean squinted at the tiny words, reading it softly outloud, “ _ Finally made it official. Now just have to figure out how to tell our families _ … and then a smiley face.”

Meg laughed. “They got married, you ass.”

“What?”

“Rings. They’re showing off their rings.” At least one person in this whole house was happy about it. 

Dean stared blankly at the picture, and yeah, he could see the line of Sam’s jaw, and that was his brother’s hair that needed to be cut, and that was his brother kissing that grinning idiot’s head. They had matching rings on the hands they were holding.  

His bowl of icecream cake got set back on the counter, and Dean rested against it with both elbows, eyes fixed on Meg’s phone. 

“You going to be alright there?”

“My brother married a man with longer hair than him.” Dean couldn’t believe it. How did Sam even find a guy like that?

Meg settled up to the counter beside him, eating ice cream with one hand and reaching over with the other to scroll through pictures on the phone so Dean could see.

As his ice cream melted he was given a picture show of a life he’d never known his brother had. Two years worth of pictures with captions like ‘ _ hot neighbor downstairs is making me dinner again’ _ and ‘ _ look at this gorgeous creature _ ’. Too many pictures of Sam and his boyfriend sleepy in bed together, or taking their dogs for sickeningly cute walks along the beach. 

It was all disgustingly cute, watching Nick’s surprisingly happy looking brother falling in love with Sam; and Sam far too often grinning like a little kid. 

Dean managed to still be angry, despite how happy he felt for his little brother.

“Eat your ice cream soup,” Meg directed him, taking back her phone and pushing his ignored dessert towards him.

Even if he wasn’t stunned by tonight’s revelations, Dean wouldn’t have eaten the melted cake. 

“They’re happy?”

“Annoyingly happy,” she assured him. “I still think your brother’s too smart to be with someone like Gabe, but…” Meg shrugged, holding her hands out for a little extra emphasis. 

“What’s wrong with Gabe?” After looking through what felt like a hundred pictures of Nick’s younger brother, Dean hadn’t noticed anything obviously wrong with Gabe other than the fact that the man liked to take pictures of his desserts, and apparently wore socks to bed even in the summer.

“Nothing,” Meg grinned, bumping her shoulder into his arm. “He’s sweet to your Sam. Don’t get all ‘protective big brother’ like Nick does. I can’t take this level of testosterone tonight.”

With a deep sigh, Dean let his head hang low, slowly swaying into Meg and bumping her back. “Sorry.”

“Keep the apologies to yourself. I’ve already got enough of those tonight from Nick.” She took their dishes and put them in the sink. “I’m guessing you need time to sit and stew just like the monster upstairs.”

“I’m not stewing. It’s just a lot to suddenly take in.”

“Yeah, ok,” her tone saying that she in no way believed him. “Well, I’m going to head home and get a shower and some sleep before I’ve got to go back in to work.”

“Is… is Nick going to be ok?”

“He’s in one of his moods,” she waved it off. “He just needs some space. I’ll try to swing by on my lunch break and if I can’t do that I’ll be by after work.”

“To visit me?”

The way she laughed made the suggestion seem ridiculous. “No. To check on Nick.”

“Then why are you telling me instead of Nick?”   

“I’ll tell him when I go up and get dressed, but I’m not counting on him hearing me. So if he seems worried about where I went later when his head’s cleared, if you could tell him the plan I’d appreciate.”

Dean promised her it was no problem and that he’d pass the message along. 

He only half noticed when Meg left for the night, waving goodbye to her from his sprawled out and sweaty seat on the couch. He had a lot to think about, mainly how his baby brother was an actual coward. Normally that would be another problem for another night, but here in the heat, without the distraction of the TV and with the sun starting to set over the tops of the palm trees, Dean found that he had nothing but time to think.

Daytime here in Los Angeles had felt like living five inches from the sun, and it was disgusting how that oppressive heat felt so much worse at night. It might have had something to do with the lack of air circulation. Grumbling and pulling himself up, Dean took the half empty bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and stalked the apartment, opening every single window before planting himself at the bottom of the stairs and hating everything. 

And in the beginning he knew that drinking was a bad plan, but most of the way through the bottle drinking was a great plan. Enough whisky swimming inside him that there wasn’t room enough for thinking about brothers lying, or how hot it was, or people’s birthdays when they shouldn’t have to have a birthday because there was no way it could be a good one.

Only quiet thoughts about how easily his back had settled against the ridgid stairs like they were the most comfortable bed in the world. 

“Hey,”

Humming softly, Dean let his head roll loose on his shoulders, looking over at the two dog laying flat on their bellies like furry puddles. “Yeah?”

“Bark bark bark,” a man’s voice said dryly.

Dean squinted hard at the dogs because he was fairly certain that neither of them had moved to speak.

“Up here.”

Confused, Dean looked up toward the top of the stairs for a third dog. There was only Nick’s legs hanging down onto the first couple stairs. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Sorry to disappoint?” 

“Sorry you’re not a talking dog. That would be fuckin’ awesome.”

“You know what else would be awesome? You sharing that bottle.”

“No. No, no, no, no.” Dean shook a finger at the mostly hidden man up there. “You’re not allowed to.”

“But it’s my birthday.”

“Wow. Don’t care. I got you a cake and some loud sex. You don’t get booze too.”

Startled laughter rolled down the stairs, and Nick’s voice was as dark as the apartment. “That was for me?”

“Happy birthday, Nicky―sorry.  _ Nick _ . Just Nick. It’s not much of a name. Too short.”

“Sorry I couldn’t have a long name like ‘Dean’.”

And Dean nodded in agreement.

“So… I guess you and me are brother-in-laws now?”

To which Dean shook his head, rolling onto his side and pushing awkwardly up to sit and lean against the wall. “No. I don’t want you for a brother.”

“You wouldn’t be my first choice either.”

“Bitch.”

Nick snorted softly, but otherwise didn’t respond to the insult.

“You’re supposed to call me a jerk.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Nope. Don’t like it.” He rubbed his eyes wondering why they felt so gritty. “You don’t say it right.”

“See, you’re obviously too drunk to be holding that bottle. You should give it to me.”

“For safe keeping?”

“Oh, definitely for safe keeping.”

“I’m not  _ that _ drunk, Nick.”

There was some noisy shifting around in the darkness above before Nick said almost apologetically, “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” 

“You feeling good enough to talk tonight?”

“I thought we were already talking…”

“Tell me a story,” Dean demanded of the upstairs ghost, and was sort of surprised when he wasn’t greeted with an argument.

“What kind of story?”

“One that I’ll like,” it should have been so obvious that Dean wasn’t sure why he even had to say it. He sighed, easily melting back into the quiet that followed his directions, letting the bottle settle onto the step below.

“My… my first apartment was in one of those high rise things. I lived up on the sixteenth floor, so too far to take the stairs, which sucked because the elevator was old and would get stuck between floors all the time.”

Nick took a long pause, or Dean drifted away for a time.

Probably the second, because the next sentence felt misplaced.

“She always had this fruity sort of perfume, not like you’d expect an adult to wear, more like a teenager. I always got the feeling she was trying to seem younger. You know? But that’s kind of normal for women out here after they pass thirty.”

Dean nodded, agreeing even if he wasn’t sure what to.

“I was barely nineteen and had no clue what was going on other than a gorgeous woman was chatting me up. And I mean, we were stuck in that elevator, no cell phones, nothing to do but wait for maintenance to sort things out, and talk, and kiss…”

Laughing softly, Dean grinned at those legs up there. “You kissed the fruity lady?”

“She kissed me first,” Nick sounded oddly defensive. “I was too shy back then to ever make the first move. I remember her telling me that we’d have to be quick because we didn’t know when they’d get the elevator fixed.”

Still grinning, Dean closed his eyes, listening to the rumble of Nick’s story. 

And he really had a lovely way of telling it, that very soft voice of his and those long pauses.

Since he’d met this man Dean hadn’t know what to do with that empty space between thoughts other than to try and wait them out. Belly full of bourbon and a head full of images to accompany the story of a young man’s first time, Dean found that tonight, he didn’t mind those long pauses so much.   

Dean didn’t know where he was when he woke up, just like he didn’t know where the bathroom was which was why he ended throwing up in a kitchen sink. At least it was convenient to turn on the tap and drink from the faucet once his stomach was empty, rinsing his mouth out and then splashing water in his face.

Bleary eyed, he looked at his surroundings. Small apartment. Clean. Ugly wallpaper. Out of date appliances. Harvest gold countertops. Heavy curtains. Night lights in most of the outlets, giving the whole place a soft sort of glow.

Coughing, Dean drank a little more water from the sink. 

His skin felt gritty with dried sweat, hair plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck. Everything hurt, and groaning softly out of self pity, Dean sank to the kitchen floor and pressed his head against the nearest cabinet.

On a miserable hunch he croaked out a pitiful, “Nick?”

But there wasn’t an answer. 

“God damn it, Nick.” Dean hadn’t had a hangover like this in years and really he could have done without the reminiscing. “Is this your place or am I lost?” 

Almost like an answer, Loki came trotting up to Dean, sniffing his face before licking him. Cookie close on his heels. Both dogs seemingly very interested in his well being. 

Good enough.

“Nick, if you’re not sleeping and can hear me, I’m going to just pass out here on your floor for a bit. Ok?” Dean winced at the sound of his own voice and closing his eyes he curled onto his side, letting the floor hug him. Taking the smallest comfort in the cool linoleum against his skin. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. The second black out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I've got 2 conventions coming up in the next month, which means that I'm naturally putting off artwork and writing because I'm an A+ procrastinator XD  
> But hey, you get a crazy long chapter that I hope is just as satisfying to read as it was to write <3

Dean couldn’t be sure if it was the delighted female laughter, the muffled talking, the dog licking his face, or the stunning hangover that woke him. Perhaps a combination of all of the above. All he knew was that his body hurt and he wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a few more hours. 

Grumbling and pushing the dog away, Dean tried to sit up, baffled as to where he was and why he was on the floor. With more effort that he would have liked, he managed to find a slightly more upright position. Back pressed against a cabinet, Dean decided he was definitely in a kitchen. 

Not his own kitchen. 

Not Sam’s kitchen.    

A distant voice was saying, “It’s not funny.”

And the answer came in that lovely feminine voice, “It sure as hell is, Nick.”

That’s right. Dean was upstairs in Nick’s side of the house. 

He pressed his hands to his face, holding back the roll of nausea.

Somewhere nearby Meg’s laughter died down enough to add, “A boy kisses you and now you’re hiding. It’s fuckin’ beautiful. I wish Gabe was here to see it. He’d be pissing himself laughing.”

“Just get him out,” Nick pleaded. 

“You do it. You’re an adult.”

“Meg.”

Letting his hands fall to his lap, Dean looked at the two dogs sitting beside him.

Whatever cheap embalming fluid that his little brother was trying to pass off as whiskey had done a number on Dean’s brain. All he managed to do for what felt like half an hour was stare blankly at the dogs and wonder how a boy could have managed to get into the barricaded fortress that Nick lived in and why in god’s name would the boy have kissed that shifty cave dwelling weirdo. Maybe a delivery man? A solicitor of some kind? 

And Nick wanted him out?

Why was the kid still in here?

Hopefully Dean hadn’t been the idiot who let the boy in. 

He was too tired and too hungover to figure out this kind of mystery. 

The toes of shoes entered his line of sight. 

Looking up made Dean dizzy, but he did his best to offer Meg something like a charming smile. “Hey there.”

“Hey yourself.” She was in scrubs again, probably a different set than yesterday, her wavy hair pulled back in a ponytail that swung forward on her shoulder as she leaned down and offered Dean a hand. “Come on. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. You’re spooking the wildlife.”

Glancing at the two dogs, still wagging their tails, Dean had no idea what the small woman was talking about, but he took her hand and did his best to get to his feet without actually pulling on her too much. 

“Is- is Nick ok?”

The smirk on Meg’s face was the only answer Dean got to that question. Instead she went to the fridge and took out a bottle of water, then to a drawer to pull out a bottle of aspirin. “Here, you look awful.”

“I  _ feel  _ awful.” He struggled for a moment to unscrew the bottle cap and then proceeded to down nearly half of the water before he took the pills from Meg. 

“Take another one of the waters on your way out, I know you’ve only got milk and beer down at your place. Then go get yourself cleaned up.”

“Is this after work for you or are you on a lunch break?”

She raised an eyebrow as she took his elbow and started leading him from the kitchen. “After work. Why?”

“Just trying to figure out what time it is.”

“Somewhere between lunch and dinner.”

“Helpful. Super helpful.” Dean let himself be lead down a short hallway that took a sharp right to a door in the floor. 

“Hey, so that’s what it looks like from this side,” he rubbed at his eyes. “Somehow a little freakier than it is on my side.”

“Oh, definitely freakier up here, Romeo.”

If Dean didn’t feel half dead he might have asked for clarification. As it was, he was honestly surprised that he’d made it all the way from the kitchen to the hall without having to take a break. “Well, thanks for the armed escort out. I think I got it from here.”

“Gonna’ fall down the stairs?”

“God, I hope not,” Dean grumbled and carefully took himself down the narrow hole in the floor, keeping both hands against the wall so he wouldn’t stumble. There was no dignity in it, but he also made it all the way down without falling on his ass, so he considered it a win. 

Up above him Meg called down a simple instruction, “You leave this door open. If the monster wants it closed he’s got to come out of his cave and do it himself. Alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just not so loud.”

“What?!” She yelled back to him with that sort of tone that meant that she’d heard him perfectly well and just felt like torturing him.

“Come on,” Dean pressed a hand to his forehead, over his eyes, slowly making his way towards the bathroom. “You’re a nurse, for Christ’s sake. Didn’t you take an oath to do no harm?”

“I’m not a feel good hospital nurse, Dean. I’m a physical therapist. My job is to hurt people until they feel better.”

He was nearly certain that that was not how things worked, but also wanted to go curl up in the bottom of the shower until the asperin kicked in. 

Which is exactly what he did.

It was dark, and the right temperature, and so very quiet other than the sound of water falling over his aching head. Still not feeling his best, wondering why in god’s name there was Cher music being played upstairs, Dean found jeans and clean boxers, fed the dog, ate some crackers, and started looking for his phone.

When he finally unearthed it from between couch cushions, the battery was nearly dead and he had six missed calls, each one an hour apart and from the same number he didn’t know. No one had left a voicemail and Dean really didn’t feel in the mood to cold call and get stuck talking to some telemarketer. 

Outside was unpleasant, so he let Cookie out to do her business, then sat on the livingroom floor and tossed a tennis ball around for her. It wasn’t as good as a walk would have been, but it was just too damn hot out for man and beast. Plus Loki came thundering down at some point to join the game so Cookie had a friend and Dean made her promises that he’d take her out for an extra long walk tomorrow morning. 

The phone started ringing and wincing at the loudness of the ringtone, Dean declined the call and tossed the tennis ball against the far wall to the delight of both dogs. 

About a minute later he got a text from Nick. It was short and simple.

**Answer your damn phone**

Dean frowned. 

But Nick wasn’t the one calling him. It was a different number. Still, like magic the phone started ringing with that mysterious number again. 

Hesitantly, he accepted the call and put the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“He lives,” a man’s voice laughed a little too happily. “You’re harder to get on the phone than an ex-girlfriend.”

“Who is this?”

“Gabriel.”

“Nick’s brother?”

“Yes?”

“ _ Why _ ?”

“I… I don’t know how to answer that.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“Because your brother is a big, strong, handsome, coward―who also doesn’t have an international calling plan on his phone so he tried to use that as an excuse why he couldn’t call you back yesterday when he chickened out, Deano.”

Dean’s thoughts were slow to put his feelings into words. “So  _ you’re  _ the fucker who married my brother.”

Gabriel’s laugh was this uninhibited free sort of sound, the exact opposite of Nick’s. “I’m actually the fuckee, not the fuck _ er _ … most of the time... but that’s more semantics. Good that you know though, it’s gonna make this so much easier for Sam when he gets back from his walk.” 

At a loss for words, Dean managed to blink numbly at his phone.

Gabriel made strangely thoughtful sounds before asking, “Am I hearing Cher?”

“Are you?”

“From all the stories I’ve heard about you, you didn’t strike me as a fan.”

“I’m not.”

“So it’s Nick blasting his music?” Oddly there was a sigh of relief. “Thank god. If he’s mad enough to play Cher, even when I’m not home to hate it, that means I managed to do something right.”

“From what I get he’s pretty pissed off at you and I don’t blame him. What kind of inconsiderate son of a bitch gets married on his brother’s birthday. On his  _ dead _ brother’s birthday. On his dead brother’s death anniversary?” If Nick doesn’t give you a black eye when you get back I’ll do it for him.”

“Hey now, mister adorably protective. First off, wow, didn’t think you and Nick were so buddy buddy that he’d even mention Mikey. Second, the accident happened in the winter―so you got your facts mixed up somewhere. Third, you’ve got yourself a brother of your own, you ever seen Sam cry?”

Dean hadn’t been ready for the question and it took him one uneasy moment to answer with a soft, “Not since he was in underoos.”

“Yeah well,” Gabe chuckled, “just think what sort of thing you might be willing to do if you had to see your Sam crying today. See, if it can get Nick out of his own head for a day, I’ll do just about anything. I’d rather have him fuming at me than missing Mike. I want him so pissed off that he won’t answer the phone when I call him, or that he plays Cher when I’m trying to get work done, or gives me a black eye when I come home. If I can make him  _ mad  _ for his birthday instead of depressed then good job, me. Gold star. Pat on the back.”

The guy was right though.

Just the idea of Sammy crying, actually crying, made Dean want to do irrational things. 

It was really weird for Dean to find himself having so much in common with this man he’d never met, that he’d only ever seen in pictures, who Dean didn’t even know existed before a couple weeks ago. 

And even if it seemed an ass-backwards way to go about things if Gabriel could make Nick angry instead of sad maybe it was for the best? Who was Dean to jude on this one. He didn’t know the two men or their family dynamic. 

So if that wasn’t an issue, at least for a little while, Dean only really had one question for this guy, “You, umm… you really love my brother?”

“Wow, what a stupid question. I’m over the fuckin’ moon for your giant moose of a brother. He’s amazing, or did that somehow escape your notice? Sam is, without a doubt, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve been in love with him since the first time he grinned at me and said hello. He’s…  _ Hey _ , there he is. Speak of the devil.” Gabriel had another one of those laughs as he spoke away from the phone. “Call for you, Sammich. I’m gonna take my laptop down to the pool and go through the photos from yesterday.”

Sam’s voice came from so far away, “Yeah, alright. I’ll be down in a bit.” Soft sounds followed by a softer, “Love you.” Rustling noises and the a curious but friendly, “Hello?”

As mad as Dean had been yesterday, all he could do right then was smile and say, “Heya, Sammy.”

“Hey…” an uncomfortable laugh and a mumbled, “didn’t think Gabe would throw me under a bus like this. Ok. Um… how mad are you so I can brace myself?”

“Not as mad as I should be?”

“That’s a good start.”

“I didn’t know you were such a coward.” 

“Ok.”

“It’s a goddamned embarrassment.”

“Alright.”

“You didn’t think I could handle having a gay brother?” It all came spilling out of Dean like a dam breaking, things he didn’t know he needed to say. “Is that why you moved halfway across the world? So you could be gay where no one you knew would find out? I get hiding it from Mom and Dad, they can be a bit…  _ uptight  _ about somethings. But me? You couldn’t tell  _ me _ ? Because that’s fuckin’ insulting, Sammy. If I didn’t disown you back when we were kids and you told me that you thought Phantom Menace was the best Star Wars movie, you really think I’m going to give a rat’s ass that you’re boning down on some guy? Give me a little credit here. You’re my brother. Act like it.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“I don’t want an apology, bitch. I want to be goddamned happy for you. So fucking be a man, come out to me, tell me how you met your boyfriend, tell me when you fell in love, make it weird for both of us, then tell me about getting married, and let me tease you about it.”

Sam was laughing, this stressed out horrified sort of laugh.

“I’m serious here,” Dean used his best serious voice. “I’m ready to tease you, I just don’t have any ammunition yet.”

Like signing his own death sentence, Sam laughed again and settled in to tell Dean everything that he hadn’t told him for the last two years. It was a long conversation. At some point he even had to get up and find the phone charger or risk losing the call.

By the time Dean hung up his phone he looked around to notice that the apartment was dark and very quiet. He went to the nearest lightswitch, only to sigh in annoyance when no matter how many times he flicked it the light stayed off. Another blackout. Fantastic. 

Sweating and slightly irritated under his good mood, Dean decided to take Cookie and go out to dinner. It might be a bit of a drive to find the closest neighborhood that still had power, but the search sounded better than sitting here in the dark apartment nibbling on crackers. 

He got on a shirt and shoes and hesitated at the foot of the stairs, squinting into the advanced darkness up above. 

“Hey! Thinking of getting Chinese food for dinner. What do you want?”

No answer. 

“Come on, Nick. I know you’re still up there.”

Finally a begrudging, “Fried rice,” was yelled down.

And Dean would accept that. He knew that as bad as his last night had been, Nick’s was likely worse, so the man was allowed to be more reclusive than normal. At least the door had stayed open and that little step meant something. Dean had no idea what it meant, but definitely something.

Cookie seemed to like the trip, sticking her head out the window of the Impala and happily greeting anyone they drove past. As stupid as it was, the dog had grown on Dean and he thought that he’d actually miss her when it was time to head back to Kansas. 

It took nearly half an hour to creep through the slow LA traffic and to find a place with power and a lobby that didn’t mind his well behaved dog leaning against his leg while he placed an order to-go. Nearly another half hour wait for the food, because of course the place was packed, though Dean didn’t mind waiting outside with Cookie, smiling at every girl who came by. Then a full hour to get back to Sam’s, because they had to stop at a pet store and get a doggy ice cream for his fluffy companion. 

Dean left the sliding back door to the apartment open at a weak attempt of getting some air flow going. 

“Heya, I got the grub. Come eat on the stairs with me.”  

Loki came down, looking excited.

“Not you, you dust mop. Your uncle.” He scratched the pint sized dog behind the ears before walking himself halfway up the stairs. “Nick. Food.”

“Dumbwaiter.”

“Like hell,” Dean said to the still open door. “It’s too hot to go out to the garage. I’m putting your rice on the top step and then I’m sitting my ass down here at the bottom and I’m eating my dinner. Join me if you want.” 

Leaving half the food at the top of the stairs, noticing that all the doors up there were closed tightly, Dean went back down to the last step and plated himself. The food was a bit greasy, and frankly it was too hot in the apartment to be eating, but he was hungry and didn’t mind sharing the occasional piece of beef with the two dogs down there keeping him company. With their help he finished off both boxes of take-out that he’d ordered for himself, never seeing or hearing any signs of movement from upstairs. 

Letting his head fall back against the wall and his arms fall open wide as he sat there melting in the heat, Dean called up, “You still up there?”

Nearly a full, and increasingly uncomfortable minute passed before a soft, “Yeah. I’m here.”

Dean sighed. He thought that they’d made some progress over the past couple days. Nick actually coming down a few steps, talking together, drinking together. 

A half remembered memory came rushing back and Dean sat up straighter. He’d been drinking last night. He’d sat here on the steps and talked with Nick for a very long time. Oh and Dean was an ass when he’d been drinking. 

What had he said to make the other man retreat so damn hard?

Oh no. 

Dimly he remembered waking up on the kitchen floor upstairs.  Meg teasing Nick about being kissed by a boy. 

Dean was a boy. 

Dean was a very stupid boy when drunk. 

He pressed his hands to his face and took a slow breath, wracking his brains for any other memories from the night before, but all he had was Sam’s awful whiskey and laying on the stairs listening while Nick talked. 

“Nick?” 

“What?”

“I’m… I’m sorry about last night?” And Dean really wished that he hadn’t had to say the exact same words so many times before in his life. “For whatever I did. Ok?”

A lot of quiet was all the answer he got. Which was less than promising.

Dean wasn’t great at apologies. He’d said as much as he could and the rest of his awkward guilt he’d just have to show. “I’m gonna put your food somewhere safe so the dogs don’t eat it.” 

Even if it was against some unspoken rules, he tiptoed up the stairs, took the take-out box, and put it on the kitchen counter. The actions were all mostly through touch, seeing as he was as good as blind up there. It was like walking into an oven. He’d sort of forgotten that heat rose, and it surprised him just how much hotter it was up there. 

Keeping a hand against the wall to find his way back to the stairs, Dean hesitated. He counted three closed doors just barely visible in whatever ambient light managed to filter its way up through the old stairwell. Now Dean knew he could be dumb, and he was definitely an ass, but he wasn’t a dumbass, and so he didn’t try any of those tempting doors. 

Instead he said in the least threatening tone that he could manage, “I don’t want to tell you your business, man―but it’s actually hotter up here than it is outside. And you don’t have to come down stairs and hang out with me... I get how much you don’t want that, but at least open a window before you bake to death… ok?”

When he, shockingly, didn’t get an answer, Dean simply nodded to himself and started back down to his side of the house, only to nearly miss a step when he heard his name.  

“Dean?”

Bracing himself to either get a well deserved  _ ‘fuck off _ ’ or even possibly a blitz attack. “Yeah?”

“I need two favors.” The voice seemed to be coming from the door at the farthest end of the hall, and oddly it wasn’t as mad as expected. “The first one is that you won’t talk to anyone, especially Meg, about the second favor.”

As much as there should have been dread to go along with a request like that, Dean found himself grinning. “Deal. What’s the second favor?”

“You said you’re good at fixing things, right?”

“Pretty good,” it was beautiful to hear that this is what was needed of him. If this made them even for whatever asinine thing he’d done when drunk, he was more than happy to agree to it. “What can I do?”

“There’s something stuck in the bathtub faucet.”

A startled laugh came out of Dean, and he did his best to cover it with a cough. “Say no more. I got it. Fix it first thing in the morning.”

“Tonight.”

“It’s pitch black in here, dude.”

“It’s got to be tonight.”

Nodding, Dean sighed. It was still very weird to him that a full grown man wanted to take baths, but sure. Whatever Nick needed. In this kind of heat, maybe it helped. “Then I’ll fix it tonight. I think there was a flashlight out with the tools.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” 

And Dean got himself halfway to the garage before pausing to wonder what the hell could have gotten stuck in a tub faucet and why he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about it―because the only things that possibly came to mind were impossible and absolutely the sorts of things that he’d want to tell other people about.  

After a lot of stumbling and fumbling, stubbing his toe twice and legitimately running into a wall, Dean managed to find the flashlight. He hadn’t realised how well he’d adjusted to the dark until he turned on that flashlight, it was very nearly blinding―though it made navigating the stairs feel so much less dangerous. 

“Ok, boss,” Dean turned the flashlight from closed door, to door, to door. As much fun as randomly guessing might be, it felt safer to ask, “Which one’s the bath?”

“End of the hall.”

Dean had never done any bathtub repairs in triple digit weather, or in the dark, but he’d decided to consider it a challenge to his handyman skill set. 

The tool box he’d taken had a fairly good selections of tools, in theory more than enough to do the work here, but it was a heavy and unwieldy box and he had to set it down to have a hand fee to open the door. The bathroom was a similarly outdated design, matching what Dean remembered seeing in the rest of the upstairs. His flashlight swinging over a black and white checkered tiled floor, and a pastel colored clawfoot tub, and who could only be Nick laying in the claw foot tub.

Nearly dropping the flashlight, Dean jumped. He hadn’t expected to look into the room and have anyone looking back at him. Steadying the light, knowing he looked like a bit of a idiot, he pointed the beam back towards the other man. 

Nick had an arm over his eyes, face barely peeking up over the edge of the tub as he hissed, “Right in the fuckin’ eyes. Wow. Thanks.” 

“Sorry,” Dean lowered the light with a bit more deliberate intent than the first time, pointing it down near the other end of the tub. A sharp laugh caught in his throat.

Nick made a soft, indignant noise before managing to sink further down, only his bent knees and one foot visible. “First thing was we aren’t going to talk about it.”

“Dude,” Dean absolutely could not keep himself from laughing. “How do you even get a toe stuck in a faucet?”

“It was dripping,” was the only answer that Nick seemed inclined to give. 

“Oh my god. But  _ how _ ?”

“Look, it was a tough call between asking for your help and quietly dying without dignity in a bathtub. Don’t make me regret this any more than I already do.”

“Ok. Ok.” Dean tried to get himself under control. Clearing his throat and picking up the tool box. “Sorry. I just wasn’t ready is all. I’m good. I promise.”

“I hate this so much,” and there was nothing but defeat in Nick’s voice, it was enough to take the wind from Dean’s sails.

He sat on the floor beside the tub, keeping the light deliberately pointed at the other man’s foot with its very long, very pale toes. “You wanna hold this for me? I think I’m going to need both hands free for this.”

Nick sat up, putting his shoulder very close to Dean’s, taking the flashlight in his dripping wet hands. 

“Keep it steady.”

“It may come as a shock to you but I  _ have  _ held a flashlight before tonight.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean looked over at Nick and whatever he’d planned to say sort of evaporated. The mental image he’d made of this man did not match the reality. Which was to say that he didn’t look like someone’s little brother. And it’s not like Dean had a good reason for just sort of assigning Nick a version of Sam’s face, other than the fact that he felt oddly protective of the weirdo in the same sort of way he felt protective of his own little brother. 

Nick looked nothing like Sam. 

And it was either because Dean was in an unexpectedly good mood from his earlier conversation with his own brother,  _ or  _ because some part of his brain remembered whatever fuckery took place last night―because Nick’s irritated little frown and his paler than pale eyes played havoc with Dean’s insides. Stomach suddenly in knots, heart in his throat. 

For a few seconds too long, he looked at Nick, close enough to feel the man’s breath against his face, before clearing his throat and digging into the tool box. 

“Alright, so I’m gonna’ have to touch you―” Dean paused when he heard himself. Quickly correcting. “Your  _ foot _ . I’m gonna’ have to touch your foot. Just the foot. Maybe an ankle. I don’t know if you’ve got a thing with being touched on top of the everything else that you’ve got going on. So, you know, heads up. And… and I’m just going to shut up and work. Ok?”

“Probably a good idea.”

From the way that Nick’s toes curled when Dean got his fingers around the smooth arch of his foot, it was obvious that the man was ticklish. 

It was very unfortunate that Dean always went about things in a certain way when he was with a girl who was ticklish. 

It was more unfortunate that that’s where Dean’s mind decided to go. 

The worst part was the not knowing what had happened between them last night. 

Nothing good. 

After a bit of tugging Dean realised that the fix to this problem wouldn’t be as simple as that. Granted, Nick had probably already tried all those nice basic solutions. After all, Dean wouldn’t be here if a bit of pulling could get the toe free. 

“You really got it stuck in there, didn’t you?”

“You know what? Even if this wasn’t the most stupidly embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me, it’s uncomfortable as hell. Maybe less commentary and more helping?”

Dean almost laughed, just this tight little sound as he patted Nick’s ankle and dug into the tool box. He wasn’t really sure what was good and safe to talk about, and he could tell that running his mouth right now would only make matters worse so he bit his tongue and tried to figure out how to fix this.

The dogs trotted in to check how the work was going, offering very little help. 

Nick seemed grateful for the distraction though, scratching ears with his free hand. “I know it’s got nothing to do with me… but what did my brother want to talk to you about?”

Humming softly while he tried to find the right sized screwdriver in the gently swaying light, Dean glanced up. 

“He’d texted me saying that he’d been calling you but you wouldn’t answer,” Nick explained, not quite making eye contact, biting at his lip while he spoke. “Wanted me to make you answer your phone. But he didn’t tell me what he needed.”

And never before in his life had Dean taken the time to stop and look another man over. He immediately wished that he hadn’t―because Nick was curled up beside him, pale and vulnerable but not delicate and not afraid. The man managed to look like both a skittish animal and at the same time something absolutely intimidating. 

Old scars decorated his knuckles like lace, same for left eyebrow and that lower lip that he kept biting. None of it made the man any less attractive, but they all added up to a funny sort of dangerous feeling that curled and coiled in Dean’s gut.

Creeping warmth mingled with the already overwhelming heat that he was feeling and Dean forced his eyes back to the tool box and away from the other man’s teeth against skin. 

This was stupid. 

So stupid.

He didn’t even like guys.

Apparently that hadn’t stopped him last night, which was really unnerving the more he thought about it. 

Focus. He needed to focus. 

Finally finding a screwdriver that would fit the one single inset screw, he hunched his shoulders and did his absolut best to focus on fixing this situation. 

Which would have been much easier if Nick wasn’t breathing right next to his ear. This odd little catch of breath that Dean didn’t manage to miss.

He straightened, sort of at a loss for what to say, settling on an articulate, “Dude, did you just smell me?”

Nick raised an eyebrow, nearly smiling with this confused sort of tilt to his head. “Why would I smell you?” 

“Because I’ve got this irresistible musk?” It came out as a nervous joke, but one that definitely backfired as Nick pointedly leaned in and took a deep breath, his eyes half closed, lips parted, and either sweat or bathwater made the light catch on the curve of his throat.

“Nick. No. Fuckin’ stop making this weird.”

“You mean any weirder than it already is?” It seemed to be a challenge for him, but Nick managed to draw both knees to his chest as he grumbled, “Because it’s been pretty weird since last night.”

The heat and those tickling kind of fun feelings in Dean soured. “Yeah well… sometimes people are fuckin’ stupid and they do things they shouldn’t and then they apologise.”

Nick’s shoulders were tense.

“And yeah, a couple words don’t really fix things, but sorry is still sorry, man.”

And Dean had been ready for a couple different responses to that―however, he was in no way prepared for the one he got.

“Fine! I’m sorry,” Nick’s raised voice spooked the dogs, and the two went running from the room. “I didn’t mean to, and that’s the shittiest excuse. You don’t even have to tell me, because I know how much it’s falling short after what I did. But I didn’t think you were going to come lay at the top of the stairs with me―not that I’m blaming you for what I did. Proximity isn’t an excuse. I just… it threw me off. You’ve got me jumping out of my skin half the time,  _ most  _ of the time, and… and… I’m sorry. Ok?”

Dean sputtered, “ _ You’re _ sorry?”

“Yeah. Did you want it in writing?”

He pressed his hand to his forehead, wiping sweat away. It was too damn hot to make sense of this and assumptions had already failed to do him any good. Dreading the answer, he demanded, “Nick, just what the hell happened last night?”

“What do you mean ‘ _ what happened _ ’?” And instantly the other man was on the defensive. “You were there!”

“Yeah. I was there―and I was drunk off my ass!”

Nick shook the flashlight for emphasise, “I  _ know _ !”

“Why the fuck are we yelling?!”

“You started it!”

“No I didn’t! You did!” Officially this was the least productive argument that Dean had had since grade school.

Very suddenly, Nick lunged forward, showing a snarl of teeth, the flashlight raised slightly. It was a fighting stance, a challenge, and it probably would have been intimidating as hell if the man didn’t have his toe stuck in the faucet of a pink bathtub.

And though Dean was always up for a fight with anyone, any time, he started laughing.

Nick let out a sharp breath, deflating like a popped balloon. He sank down into the water until his mouth was barely above the surface, managing a soft and simple, “Fuck you, Dean.”

It took a very strange moment for Dean to remind himself that this man here didn’t really socialise. That he hadn’t been outside in years and that the only people around him were his brother and his best friend. That almost made it make sense why the man seemed perfectly at ease to lay there pouting, in the dark, in the tub, in the nude, glaring up at Dean. 

The flashlight was still in Nick’s hand, dangling loosely over the edge of the tub, safe from the water and making everything other than the floor and Dean’s knees nearly impossible to see.

Which was good, because for just a second Dean caught himself squinting in the darkness to try and make out the finer details of Nick’s body that hadn’t been visible when the man was curled up. 

Once he noticed his own actions, Dean hurriedly took the flash light, setting it up on the edge of the tub so he could see the faucet. Just the faucet.

He had work to do that had nothing to do with anything that wasn’t that faucet. 

It had to be the heat. 

That’s what it was. 

It was just too damn hot and Dean was losing his fucking mind. 

It was the only explanation for the fact that Nick wasn’t pretty like some men could be, but he was strikingly handsome. 

Pretty was one thing.

James Dean had been pretty. Young Marlon Brando had been pretty. Even Idris Elba was pretty. Those were just universally agreed on facts. 

Handsome however was an opinion as far as Dean was concerned. 

Far more subjective. 

The only light at the end of this tunnel was that he was going back to Kansas in about a week―a place where no man was ever pretty or handsome or oddly distracting in his inconvenient nakedness. 

Muttering to himself as he worked, setting aside the screwdriver in favor of a wrench, Dean finally worked the faucet mount finally came free, only, Nick’s toe was still firmly stuck.

“I just…” Dean held the other man’s foot between his hands and sighed. “This is stupid.” 

“ ‘s not stupid,” Nick sighed in a nearly blissful sort of way, the kind of way that wasn’t really meant for public places. “It feels a- _ fuckin _ ’-mazing,” he breathed, rolling his ankle this way and that despite the faucet still hugging his toe. “I’ve been stuck with my foot like that for probably three hours.”

“Why didn’t you call for help earlier?”

“Because I knew you’d still be mad about last night.” Another throaty sigh as he pushed himself from nearly submerged, up to his elbows. “Like I said before, death was a very tempting alternative to asking for help.”

“Nick… what the actual fuck happened last night?”

One of those silences happened, and why not? Nick was an expert at them. Breaths soft as he hunched his shoulders and looked blankly around the room like he expected to find the answer written on one of the walls. Finally, after a painful pause his gaze found Dean and he asked,  “You actually don’t remember? I mean… were you really  _ that  _ drunk?”

“I sure as shit was.” Dean shook his head, fumbling in the dark to find a bottle of shampoo. “I remember finding out my brother got himself married. I remember it being hotter than hell. I remember sitting on the stairs drinking, and then waking up in your kitchen because Meg was tearing into you about you getting kissed by a boy.”

He found shampoo and squeezed a hefty amount into the open end of the faucet before slowly starting to work the piece of metal around Nick’s toe.  

It was another eternity before the man spoke, though he wasn’t silent during that pause. Occasional little grunts accompanied pained curling and uncurling of his toes. 

“I like your version better,” was all Nick saw fit to add to the oppressive quiet.

“Yeah?” Dean did love a good lie. Only problem this time he was on the wrong end of it. 

Nick made a sound like half a word, a sharp syllable before he took a sudden breath through his teeth and then the ring of metal finally popped off his toe. 

Victory was short lived on account of Dean noticing that aside from Nick’s foot and a hunk of metal between his hands, there was an awful amount of blood mixed with the pale blue shampoo and bubbles. 

“For the love of―” Dean dropped the faucet loudly into the bath water as he scrambled to pull down a nearby towel. “Why is nothing ever easy with you?” He hastily wrapped the man’s bleeding toe, putting as much pressure as he could on unexpected injury. “I swear you do it on purpose. It’s like you thrive on my worrying about you.”

“Fuck.” Nick’s voice was sudden and beautifully clipped as he strung together far more words than usual. “You’re right. I’m doing it  _ all  _ on purpose. Like having you cut open my toe with a piece of old metal, and then rub soap in the wound? Yeah, I’ve been working on this one for days. My masterpiece. And now it’s all coming together. I love it. Totally worth it. Also?  _ fuckin’ ow _ .”

“Don’t be a baby. It’s not that bad.” Dean was also not a doctor, but the words felt natural. 

“I’m sorry, are you the one sitting in a bath with bubbles and your own blood?” Nick apparently got a little extra sassy when injured. 

There was something wrong with Dean that it only made him like the man more. “Look, you want stitches, I’m more than happy to drive you to the emergency room.”

Nick’s more than elegant response was to hiss at Dean.

“Well then it’s not that bad, is it?”

“I hate you.”

“Good. Now hold the flashlight an’ let’s see if a bandaid is gonna’ cut it.”

With a little bit of maneuvering, Nick ended up sitting sideways in the bath, both legs dangling out as he held the light steady over his injured foot. He also dazzled Dean with a song made mostly of breathy profanities as the cut was cleaned and wrapped. 

And Dean was glad that the light wasn’t aimed at him, because he had a feeling that his grin wouldn’t have gone over well with his unwilling patient. “You ever see the movie The Descent?” 

“With the people in the caves?”

“Yeah. You remind me of the monsters in that movie,” he smoothed the last bit of tape into place and gently patted the underside of Nick’s foot. “Just this pale creepy thing.”

“So flattering. Thank you.” He took his foot away from Dean, bending a knee out to the side to draw the injury closer to his face to examine the hasty first aid.

Dean had wanted to make another comparison between this man and the cave dwelling cannibals of that B horror movie, but found himself somewhere between fascinated and concerned by how flexible this man was. 

“I guess it’ll do,” Nick grunted and stretched his leg back out, splaying his toes with a small pained sound. 

Dean was a pathological caregiver, and he  _ hated _ the idea that he had not only hurt this difficult man, but also hadn’t done enough to fix things. “Alright, boss. What else?”

Looking over his knees, Nick frowned the smallest frown. “What else?”

“You got me all the way up here. I’ve got a tool box. I’m sweating like a pig. I’ve got your blood on my shirt. What else can I do for you?”

“You can put my tub back together while I get dressed?”

Easy enough, even though the request felt oddly disappointing to Dean. 

Flashlight once more balanced on the edge of the tub so he could work, he did a fairly good job not turning his head to watch Nick carefully climb out of the tub, take a towel, and leave. Thankfully, putting the faucet back together was much easier than taking it apart, and then all Dean had to do was drain the tub, take the tool box, and head back down stairs. 

He had things to put away, clothes to change, and tepid sink water to splash over his face. He lowered his head, letting the water just spill over the back of his neck, wet his hair, run into his eyes, and there he stayed until he heard his name being said in an irritated sort of way. Spitting water, he looked over his shoulder, squinting into the dark apartment. 

Faintly he could make out a set of long legs taking up the top three stairs, dangling down from the hole in the ceiling. 

“Yeah?”

“Come sit with me while I eat.”

He could have said something about how bossy Nick was being tonight, but that might have removed the invitation. “How close am I sitting?”

“Not as close as last night.”

Dean stopped at the foot of the stairs, oddly hesitant. “And how close was that?”

“In my lap,” by the dry and sarcastic tone it was very difficult to tell if it was a joke or not.

Reluctant, Dean stopped a little more than halfway up, high enough that he could have raised his arms overhead and put them through the open doorway. He wanted to ask again about last night, but he had a feeling that he wouldn’t get an answer―or if he did then he wouldn’t like it. Maybe some things were better left a mystery. They’d taken turns yelling their apologies at one another, and that was probably good enough peacekeeping for the sake of someone that he’d be saying goodbye to in a few days.

Dean sat in that sweaty, dark, silence, looking at all he could see of Nick. Nothing more than a spill of ghostly pale legs. Up until tonight it was really all Dean had ever seen, and he thought to himself how strange it was to be so attached to nothing more than a sarcastic tone and some shapely ankles. 

The idea of saying goodbye in a few days didn’t hold the same appeal as he wanted it to.

“So… last night when I was drunk off my ass…”

A muffled, “No,” like Nick had a mouth full of food.

“You can’t just say no.”

“Wow. But I did.” There was the scrape of silverware. “And I’ll even do it a second time.  _ No _ .”

“Come on,” Dean teased, not because he necessarily wanted to know, but because if he kept his mouth running he was less likely to think about how hot it was or of all the stupid things that he could be doing. “At least tell me if it was any good.”

A strange noise came from the top of the stairs.

“One guy to another, come on. It’s not like I could ask any of the girls the morning after when we’ve both sobered up. How awkward would that be?”

“I think I have a pretty good idea of the level of awkwardness.”

Dean grinned. 

Nick’s dead silence seemed to be his favorite answer.

Wiping some sweat from his forehead, Dean sighed. “I mean, I’m good with just a standard one to ten rating here―”

“Please shut up.”

“Just one guy helping another guy out. Geez, Nick. I’d tell you if you needed to work on your technique.” 

Nick leaned forward from his top step, a pale moonlike face looming in the darkness above. “If you don’t remember then it never happened. I’m  _ not _ talking it out with you.”

Five days.

Sam would be back in five days and Dean would be back in Kansas. 

It helped to remember that. Helped to put things into perspective.

“How’s about a dramatic reenactment?” He suggested with a bit of a laugh. Kissing a guy a second time, if you didn’t remember the first one, sort of meant that they cancelled eachother out. Dean was fairly certain of it. And then it would just mean that he knew what happened last night. Nothing wrong or weird about it. 

That gloomy spector on the stairs swayed slightly and frowned an awful lot before finally saying softly, “Only if you play me, and I’ll play you―which means I get to drink.”

Dean didn’t like having to be the one to make a moral decision. Especially not ones that affected other people. He was used to fucking himself over, but dragging someone else down too just seemed mean.  

But Nick was an adult and Dean could let him make his own choices without enabling too badly. So he lied knowing full well that the other man wasn’t going to come down and check, “Whisky is all gone, but I’ve got a beer?”

Very suddenly Nick grinned, this crooked flash of teeth that made Dean instantly start rethinking just what the hell he was doing here.

“I haven’t had a beer in almost five god damned years,” the man up there whispered. “Deal.”

Knowing full well that he was doing a bad thing here, but also not caring, Dean took two tepid beers from the fridge that wasn’t holding onto the residual cold as well as it probably should. 

Taking the stairs slower than he’d ever taken stairs in his life, Dean sat down beside his spooky ghost of a friend. 

“Beer and Chinese food,” Nick murmured and took both bottles, “truly this is living the American dream.”

“Excuse you,” Dean laughed, reaching for one of the stolen drinks. “That’s mine.”

“Sadly I was stone cold sober last night, so you enjoy that.” It was too dark to tell for sure, but Nick might have winked. 

It left Dean with little to do other than sit there, nearly shoulder to shoulder with this man, watching him enjoy a beer more than any man had a right to. Sinking doubts started to worm their way through Dean as a nervous energy took hold, like standing in line for a rollercoaster and realising you were next. 

With a soft sigh Nick laid back, an arm over his eyes. “So,” his voice was hardly more than a breath. “It must be nice swinging both ways?”

“Excuse me?”

Nick peered up from around a wrist. “It’s what you asked me.”

“ _ Really _ ?”

Humming, Nick settled his arm back into place. “I mean, you don’t have to pick, you can just go after anyone… now you tell me that’s not how it works.”

Dean laughed, only a little uncomfortably. “Alright. That’s not how it works.”

“Sure it is,” Nick suddenly gestured wide with his beer in a way that was probably pretty spot on for drunken Dean. “You get to just kiss anyone you want… now you tell me that anyone can kiss anyone they want. There aren’t rules about these things.”

Smiling, and hating himself for it, Dean shook his head. “You can kiss anyone you want. There aren’t rules about these things.”

“This is when you rambled incoherently for a bit,” Nick pushed himself up onto an elbow, drinking more. “Use your imagination―” finishing his drink before laying back. Long fingers still wrapped around the neck of the bottle, Nick dragged the edge of a finger down Dean’s arm. “And then you asked: what’s it like kissing another guy? Isn’t it like  _ super _ stubbly and rough?”

“I’m a bit of an ass when I’m drunk,” Dean said in way of an apology, not at all doubting the accuracy of all this.

“You’re a lot of an ass,” Nick corrected. “Now use your imagination again, if you will. Pretend that you are a reclusive shut in, who prefers men over women, who hasn’t touched another man in five years, and you sadly find yourself faced with a very drunk, gorgeous, tan, rambling idiot, who keeps lightly touching your arm… you got that all in your head?”

Yes. Yes, Dean did. Looking down at Nick, he didn’t have to try very hard to imagine this scenario. He nodded slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he thought about how the window of backing out of this awful idea was getting smaller and smaller. 

“Good. So, with that imagination, put yourself in an emotionally and physically compromised state, and you tell that drunk son of a bitch that it’s not really any different to kiss a guy, and then offer to show him… but you then also have to have a small panic attack after you say it and have to really anchor yourself down to keep from going back to your room and hiding for a while. Go ahead. I’ll wait, this one’s going to take you a bit to get through.”

Dean looked down at Nick, at the way that the man was once more hiding behind an arm, at how he was white knuckling the empty bottle, and how his legs were as tucked up as he could manage while still flat on his back. 

And Dean didn’t say any of those words that Nick had said last night. 

He just leaned down and kissed him. Nervous enough that he could feel his hand shaking as he slid it over Nick’s cheek and around the back of his neck, pulling the man up so they could both sit. 

This was the sort of horrifying situation that called for a level playing field. Even footing. 

In his own mind he was playing some skewed version of a white knight, trying very hard not to scare this skittish guy even half as bad as he was scaring himself. But the way that Nick was pressing into him and lightly biting his lip sort of ruined all those good intentions in Dean. 

It was too damn hot to be kissing.

That didn’t seem to bother either of them though. 

Heart racing from all that nervous energy finally finding an outlet, and from the way that Nick’s hand had found its way into his hair, tugging on him, holding him almost too tight, Dean realised at some point that he’d let Nick push him against the wall. It was a nice place to be. Kissing greedily like they were both starving. 

To be fair, it  _ was  _ different kissing a guy. It was definitely more stubbly and rough than the alternative. But not in a bad way. Absolutely not in a bad way, and Dean grinned into it, mouthing along Nick’s throat, sort of in love with the way he so effortlessly pulled low noises from the other man.  

Hands were on his shoulders, gently pushing him back only far enough that they could look at eachother. Nick’s eyes were wide and uncertain, his rough breaths mixing with Dean’s own. 

Slowly, Dean grinned. He hadn’t seen it before, but maybe Nick was pretty too. The slope of his nose and the wry curve of his mouth. Not a traditional kind of pretty, but definitely qualifying in unexpected ways.

Dean ran his thumb over the other man’s lower lip, tracing the faintest old scars, living for the way that Nick slowly grinned back at him.  

Nodding in a ‘come here’ sort of way, Dean tugged the man back to him, finding his mouth a little more gently than before, a little slower, no less hungry. 

There was no hurry. The way that Nick’s fingers curled in his hair, the soft breathy laughter, it brought Dean right back to his highschool days. When kissing a girl was this unexplored wilderness and there were times that he’d sat in the front seat of the car with some delicate little thing from class, just making out for forever. 

Dean’s belly did odd little flip-flops that made his breath catch in his throat in a frightening and delightful way, making him want more. He got lost in it, in Nick’s taste, soft lips and rough stubble, in the feeling of his big hands, one questing in under his shirt to rub a thumb gently against Dean’s bare skin.

The sudden very warm, very furry thing pushing them apart was more confusing than it should have been. Dean blinked wildly at Cookie who had taken Nick’s place, the dog licking at his face and being just an absolutely awful cockblock. 

“No,” he told her sternly, catching her collar and trying to clear his head enough to know just what the hell to do with her. “Go lay down. Go to bed,” he instructed as he tried to steer her back down stairs and away from the important business going on up here.

The dog trotted a few steps down, wagging her tail and barking.

“No. Go to bed,” Dean used his best authoritative tone, only to have the dog come bouncing back up to him. 

“She looks like she needs a walk,” Nick said in his usual low whisper of a voice.

It was how he always spoke, but now it went right through Dean, tugging at places he hadn’t expected. All sorts of dark ideas pawing at the edges of his mind. Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Yeah. She didn’t get one this morning.”

“Go. Take her.”

“You… you still gonna be right here when I get back?”

Nick chuckled, not looking at Dean, eyes lowered as he shook his head.

“That a ‘no’?”

“That’s a ‘I have no idea what I’m doing here and I’m looking for an excuse to sit alone for awhile and think about things’.”

Which meant that it was Dean’s turn to chuckle, some sort of giddy kind of panic ebbing in, but leaving just as quickly. Surprising himself, he bumped his knee against the other man’s, lingering in that small touch. 

Nick pushed back but didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at Dean, though that wasn’t something new. The man sucked at eye contact. 

“Come on now,” Dean leaned in like they were telling secrets. “If one of us is going to sit and have a small freak out about this it gets to be me, seeing as that was singularly the least straight thing I’ve ever done in my whole damn life.”

“And?”

Dean shrugged, slowly getting to his feet and catching Cookie’s collar again. “And what?”

Nick didn’t look up from his second beer, peeling at the label, wallowing in his silence. 

So it was Dean’s job to answer his own question. Confused, but sort of happy at how easy the words were. “And if you’re still up here when I get back ...then I’m very ok with picking up at where we got interrupted. But that’s your call, boss. I know you like your quiet cave and I’ve been in your space an awful lot tonight.”

“It’s…” he let out a slow, hard breath, a tug of a smile barely visible from the bowed angle of his head. “It’s been a long time since someone like you’s been in my space like that.”

“So… you saying we both have a nice freak out?”

“Probably?”

And Dean honestly couldn’t say that once those fun and sexy sorts of chemicals worked their way through his system that he’d still be just as fine and happy with how he’d acted tonight. Shrugging, he asked, “Can we both be done freaking out by tomorrow night, so we can have dinner and makeout on the stairs again?”

Nick looked up, obviously startled by the question.

“I’m thinking steak and potatoes?” As out of his depth as he was, Dean found it easiest to lean into his greatest strength, which was confidence he didn’t feel.  

Nick snorted, a small smile creeping in as he leaned into the same tensely manufactured bravado. “In this weather? I will actually kill you if you turn on the oven and make this house any hotter than it already is.”

“Well I don’t do salad.”

“Sushi?”

Fuck California and their raw fish eating, barefooted hippies. 

Dean was a man and he needed man food. 

But Nick was sitting there looking up at him with those kiss bruised lips curled up on the edges like a question.

“We can do sushi,” Dean promised, silently hoping that tomorrow’s dinner choice would be the only thing here that he’d end up regretting by the end of this.

  
  
  



	8. Downstairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finished 2 paintings, so to treat myself I got to sit down and write. Treats for me and for y'all <3  
> I love writing these two weirdos and I love that you guys have come along for the ride.

The longer that Dean walked the warm, dark streets, being dragged along by Cookie and Loki, the more and more upset he started to get. It started off small, this irritated little itch like a scab he was trying not to pick at. But as sweat ran down his temples and throat, and he replayed over and over again what had happened tonight on the stairs, possibly some variant on what had taken place the night before, Dean felt himself start to get mad. This corrosive cocktail of awful feelings.

Disgusted with himself.

Furious at the way he’d kissed Nick. 

Mortified at the way that Nick had kissed back.

Devastated at the way that it had taken him nearly three weeks to work up the fucking courage to kiss someone who was exactly his type except for a few anatomical anomalies. 

And under all that, angry. Angry because he was god damned twenty six years old, which meant that he’d wasted the nearly fifteen years since puberty. He’d only been experiencing half of what life had to offer him and he was pissed off at his own narrow mindedness.

Because those anatomical differences had meant fuck all once their lips had met.

In a strange way Dean thought he even might have prefered the rough handling and feeling small for the first time he could ever remember. Nick had so easily pushed him and touched him, taking control and Dean, grinning, simply had to keep up. 

Fifteen years.

Fifteen years that would have been better spent having the guts to kiss every guy at school that he’d caught himself looking at for too long. 

He stopped walking for a moment as the sudden realisation that he could have kissed Benny―a friend’s cousin who came up from Louisiana one summer to visit. A guy with a soft grin and a slow drawl, who’d been low key but obviously flirting with Dean nearly two months, and if Dean hadn’t been a chicken shit coward too freaked out by the way that he wasn’t freaked out by Benny then they could have spent the summer banging. 

“I’m an idiot,” he told the two dogs and they looked at him with their tails wagging and their tongues hanging out as if to agree. 

And worse than the fact that he could have been fooling around with that gorgeous cajun kid years and years ago, Dean suddenly realised that Sam leaving was his fault. 

If he’d been willing to admit that he sometimes rubbed one off to a certain sexy daytime TV doctor, then maybe his baby brother wouldn’t have gone halfway across the united states just to be who he was. 

But… if Sam hadn’t left then he wouldn’t have met Gabe.

Dean wouldn’t have needed to come out here and house sit.  

Cookie barked questionly at him, turning around to sniff at his knees. 

Yeah, he’d probably been standing stock still in horrified silence for too long, and it was time to finish their walk and head back home. After all, there was no progress to be made in running himself ragged around ‘what ifs’. The smallest consolation in that he knew his brother would never blame him for it. That Sam was happy now. Really fucking, honest to god, happy, and it was selfish of Dean to try and take the credit or blame for that.

Part of him knew that hoping to see Nick still haunting the top of the stairs was a little too hopeful, so Dean tried his best not to let that quiet but inevitable disappointment weight on him too badly. The sideways door was still open, this yawning black hole, and that small thing would simply have to be enough for now. 

Dogs were given more food and fresh water, and seeing as it was too damn hot, Dean shed a few layers of clothing and sank onto the couch where a slight cross breeze could reach him through the open back door. 

With nothing to do except sweat and think about the man he couldn’t hear moving around upstairs, sleep was very restless when it finally came for him. Not bad sleep necessarily, but perhaps a little more graphic than he’d had in a long time. When he woke with a startled grunt it was daylight. Another sweaty day already underway, and shifting slowly Dean realised that a good part of that warmth had to do with the hand he had stuffed down his boxers.

Squinting blearily at the back door, Dean could see both dogs laying in the grass. He was as alone as a pet owner could be, which was alone enough to take care of himself―or at least it would have been had he not let his eyes flutter unfocused, and catch a very startling sight at the other end of the couch. 

Dean was not alone, though Nick was sleeping, so maybe it still half counted. 

In the warm morning light the man looked impossibly pale, long legs curled up under him, cut off sweatpants reaching his knees and practically the only color on him, just this slash of dark blue under his cheek and under the hard rounded lines of his shoulders. 

The faint glimpses in the harsh beam of the flashlight last night hadn’t done justice to Nick. 

It took more willpower than Dean thought he had to stop touching himself and to put his hands flat on the couch where they couldn’t get him in any trouble, or mark him as an A+ creep. 

With so many more deep slow breaths than he’d like to admit to, Dean calmed his nerves. It was only then that the weirdness of this really hit him. 

Nick was downstairs. 

All the way downstairs. 

Nick didn’t come downstairs. 

On the couch between them was a pad of paper and an ink pen, the drawing upside down for Dean, but he could still tell what it was. Tentatively he reached out and caught the edge of the pages, dragging the sketch book closer. He’d been told that the man drew, but he hadn’t expected to ever see one of the drawings, and he certainly hadn’t expected any of them to be of himself. 

Dean was by far not an art critic. It just wasn’t his thing. Still, he spent a few very long minutes looking at the rather technical drawing of himself, at all those very careful and precise pen marks that made up every sleep smooth lines of his face and the freckles over his shoulders and chest.  

Then Dean found that he had to talk himself down from a very different sort of bad idea, because he was more than a little tempted to steal the page out of Nick’s book and keep it for himself. But that would be wrong he reminded himself many times over as he gently set the book back down and carefully slid off the couch.

He couldn’t rightly tuck the man in, it was far too warm for a blanket, but he could close the curtains and make the downstairs as dark as it could be, before turning on the AC and going to get a shower. 

The couch dweller was right where he’d been left when Dean came back out dressed and still just as confused. It felt significant that the man was down here, and that he’d placed himself so close to Dean before seemingly passing out mid drawing―but whatever that heavy meaning might be was lost. 

Dean’s choices were to sit back on the couch, or not. Simple choices. 

And under all his self-doubt and uncertain sexual crisis, Dean realised that quite simply, he was still a bit of a coward. 

So he went to the garage for tools and then took himself to the unoccupied upstairs to see about that broken shower. Someone had done a lousy repair job at some point and the drywall was warped in places where water had soaked in behind it. A burst pipe, an oddly easy fix if he had the right tools and parts. 

Which, naturally he did not. 

But one trip to the hardware store, and an hour later, Dean was sitting back on the lip of the tub, with cool water spraying from the shiny new shower head up over the newly patched and plastered drywall, feeling pretty pleased with himself. There would need to be a new coat of paint before anyone showered in here, but hey, someone  _ could  _ shower in here.  

Marching down to see if his neighbor was awake enough to brag to, Dean stumbled, not just because there were dogs on the stairs, but because Nick was no longer on the couch. The thing was, Dean would swear to the fact that the man hadn’t come back up to the other side of the house, and it’s not like going outside was an option.

“Nick?”

No answer, and it really felt like Dean should have been used to that by now. 

“Nick, you creepy and weirdly hot albino, you. Where the fuck did you go?”

Dean refused to panic. It’s not like he’d misplaced a child. This was a full grown man who’d wandered off, and it was fine. Perfectly fine.

With hurried steps he searched the apartment upstairs, opening doors to rooms that were not his to open, but also not looking too hard once he saw that they were unoccupied. With a gnawing knot of dread in his stomach, Dean went back  downstairs and out to the garage, sighing in relief when the space was equally empty. 

Uncertainly, Dean searched the very few rooms downstairs, blinking in surprise when he found Nick laying the wrong way over the foot of Sam’s bed, holding his elbows and scowling up at the ceiling. 

“There you are,” Dean slumped against the door frame, the stress melting out of him. “You know, usually when someone is calling for you, you’re supposed to answer. It’s considered polite.”

“This is the ugliest wall color I’ve ever seen,” was Nick’s answer. Not a great answer, but it was something. “I just…  _ wow _ . I hate it.”

“I’ll make sure Sam knows that you don’t approve of his home decor.”

“It’s Gabe’s I don’t like. He was painting it a few years back and he showed me the paint swatches to get my opinion, and apparently went picked the one I hated the most.”

Dean laughed, then a thought caught at him. “Your brother painted down here? Was he friend’s with the last occupants?”

“ _ I _ was the last occupant,” Nick stretched his arms wide, taking two handfuls of blanket. “It looked a lot better when I lived down here too.”

“You guys own this place?”

“Just me now,” with a growl like sigh Nick slowly stretched his legs out too, it was this oddly forced relaxation. The most uncomfortably relaxing that had probably ever taken place. “Downstairs was mine, upstairs was Mike’s. We bought the place off a sweet old lady who was moving to Florida because the neighborhood just wasn’t what it used to be and she wanted to spend her last years relaxing instead of managing a rental property. Me and Mike just kept the whole place though instead of renting it out.”

If Dean bit any harder on his cheek there would be blood. He hadn’t expected so very much uninvited information, especially not about the former brother. 

“I haven’t been down here since…” Nick cleared his throat, his toes curling.

Dean hated it, and with a grim determination he abandoned the room’s doorway, striding out to the livingroom and returning to toss the man’s sketchbook and pen onto the bed. 

With a soft, confused sound, Nick propped himself up on his elbows in time for Dean to flop onto the bed beside him, sprawling as dramatically as possible, raising his eyebrows and demanding, “Draw me like one of your french girls.”

The laugh that burst out of Nick was wholly worth it.

“Come on. I know you can,” Dean bit his lip, arching his back and doing his best Kate Winslet impersonation. 

“You looked through my book?”

“Just the top page… are there more pictures of me?” Dean sat up, suddenly charmed and very curious.

But Nick was pulling the book protectively to his chest as he sat up, hiding it as best as he could. The nervousness was so much easier to see in the light of day, all those little shifts and fidgets, that astounding lack of eye contact. 

“Dude,” Dean scooted closer, bouncing on the mattress, reaching out for the book that he’d apparently given over too quickly. “Lemme’ see.”

The request was met with being lightly slapped over the head by the book. 

A strange enough response that Dean could only laugh.

Nick frowned back and quietly said, “Shut up and lay down.”

They were two very short and easy to follow commands and they did funny things to Dean, his heart suddenly hammering and heat creeping up his chest and neck. A few sideways comments came to mind, but then he saw the other man flipping to a fresh page in his sketchbook and it helped to clarify exactly what was about to happen. 

Maybe Dean was slightly disappointed, but still he grinned, and pushed himself back towards the head of the bed. “H-how, um, how do you want me?”

“On your back?”

As tightly wound as he was right then, Dean couldn’t resist the need to tease as he awkwardly sprawled out. “I mean, why didn’t you just say so last night?” 

“Because last night I didn’t want you on your back.” Nick reached over, smacking at Dean’s knees and repositioning him into something that might have been more artful. “I wanted you on your hands and knees.”

“I… I mean,” it was rare that Dean was at a complete loss for words. 

“Models don’t talk,” came with the soft scratching of Nick’s pen. 

Face hot, and chest tight, Dean did as he was told and shut up, at least for a few minutes before swallowing down a nervous chuckle and asking, “so, you’re a top then?”

Nick met his eye over his book, blinking owlishly. “That really a conversation you wanna’ have?”

“No?” Dean hesitantly answered, squirming slightly under the sudden scrutiny. 

The whole time Nick had been scribbling away his eyes had been moving over Dean, this analytical sort of frown to him. The look had changed though, just for a moment, and for a breath he was devouring Dean. Then the look was gone and he was drawing again, that determined  _ scritch scritch _ filling the space between them. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who shows every goddamned thing he’s thinking on his face like you do.”

“Every thing?”

“Every goddamned thing,” Dean clarified.

Pen still moving in short, quick strokes, Nick asked in a whisper, “and what am I thinking, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean wasn’t a mind reader, and as open and brief as the other man’s starving expression had been it was gone now, hiding behind a focused frown. 

This was so out of Dean’s area of expertise. He’d only ever done this with girls and that whole wasted fifteen years was creeping up on him in the worst sort of way. He honestly had no idea how to seduce a man, so he just sort of imagined that he was the one drawing and it was a pretty girl laying there and what she could have done that he wouldn’t have been able to say no to. It was a simple answer, but Dean was a simple man. 

Ignoring the fact that he was supposedly modeling, he sat up, knees brushing against the other man’s. “Hey,” he lightly hooked his fingers over the edge of the sketch book.

Nick blinked those very pale eyes of his and nothing more.

“You wanna fool around on my brother’s bed and not tell him about it?”

As pale as the man was, the red blooming on Nick’s cheeks was truly spectacular. Something that may have been there last night but utterly hidden in the dark of the stairs.  

“I mean… we don’t have to,” Dean felt his own face warming up, but he grinned through it, “but it might be a shame to waste such a perfect opportunity to fool around in your old bedroom.”

Nick slowly, so very slowly hugged his book to his chest, biting his lip and making good eye contact with Dean’s shoulder. “You finished having your gay crisis then? Or is this just a terrible and aggressive way to try and work yourself through it?”

“Both?”

With a soft snort, Nick shook his head. “I didn’t know which way I was pointed when I was a kid either, but fucking isn’t the right way to sort it out.”

“Really? It sounds like the perfect way to me,” a joke that he instantly regretted making considering the way it made the other man tense. “I mean… that came out wrong. Ok. Pretend that didn’t happen. Let me try again?”

“One more time,” Nick agreed hesitantly, the edges of his eyes still tight. “But maybe think through what you’re about to say before opening that mouth of yours.”

“Nick…” It wasn’t bad advice, but it was counterproductive to how Dean functioned, “ I like you. You’re gorgeous, and weird, and fuckin’ hot, and if you give me any longer to think about it I’m going to start composing a god damned love poem about the way you keep biting your lip.”

A smile started to fight its way onto Nick’s mouth and the man held it back hard. “Dean, when a man gives you a chance to think your words though, you’re supposed to take it and not just say the first thing that comes to mind.”

“Fuck that,” Dean said with a laugh, gently tugging at the sketchbook, trying to remove the other man’s shield. “The only freak out I had was when I realised that I spent the last fifteen years of my life neglecting half the population. That’s a hell of a lot of lips I didn’t let myself kiss and a hell of a lot of regrets to catch up on. And… and you know, I’d like you to not be one more of those regrets.”

Nick only held the sketchbook tighter, eyebrows pinched in a small frown that was aimed down at their knees.

Dean laughed softly to fill that uncomfortable silence that he’d made for them. “You want to chime in any time, that’d be great.”

Not even bother to act like a remotely normal person, Nick scratched at his jaw and then his throat. Little half words hardly making any sound as they passed his lips, these breathy whispers like he was trying out answers before settling on one.

“Ask me again.”

An odd answer, but at this point Dean had come to expect the weirdness. 

So with a smile, letting go of the sketchbook and sitting back, he asked, “Ask you what, Nick?”

“Ask me if I want to fool around.”

It was a beautiful demand with all sorts of promise and possibility behind it.

Smile becoming a grin, and pulse speeding up, Dean rocked forward. “You wanna’?”

“No,” Nick suddenly looked up, all kinds of unexpected eye contact, “ask me  _ properly _ , you ass.”

“ _ Properly? _ ” Dean laughed. “Kind sir, would you do me the honor of necking with me whilst letting me feel you up on this, the bed of my younger brother?” 

Which apparently wasn’t what Nick had meant, if the fact that he smacked Dean upside the head with his sketchbook could be taken as any indication.

Grinning and trying to defend himself, Dean didn’t get a chance to retaliate before suddenly finding himself on his back, all startled sounds muffled by Nick’s mouth. It was the best sort of blitz attack, one with a lot of tongue and just the right amount of teeth.

Still smiling, Dean kissed back, loving the rough eagerness of it. Loving the way that he was pinned down beneath the weight of the other man. It was just so different than anything he’d experienced before, that weirdly liberating lack of control that kept pulling near nervous laughter from him between each long, lingering kiss.

As suddenly as it had started, Nick was pulling back. Mercifully he only went far enough to take a few rasping breaths, forehead pressed against Dean’s as he shook his head slowly.

Keeping his eyes closed and simply listening to the other man breathing, feeling that beautiful heat pooling between their bodies, Dean asked a hesitant, “That a no?” 

“It… it’s different than it was last night,” the soft words were not necessarily said like a complaint, just a stuttered fact as his lips lightly brushed against Dean’s.

Still refusing to open his eyes, Dean rocked his head side to side slowly, chasing after that warm touch and those near kisses before finally asking a rough, “Bad different or good different?”

“Bad.” With an uneven breath, Nick turned his face away, hiding it in the bend of Dean’s neck, pressing a biting kiss to that delicate skin, whispering, “It’s real bad.”

It sure as hell didn’t feel bad.

Those unapologetic kisses against his throat bruising in the best way.

Dean’s hands had been somewhat trapped near chest level, palms slick pressed flat against Nick’s ribs and shoulder. He made small circles with a thumb, slowly freeing a hand to smooth over the other man’s neck, up into his short hair, holding him. He hadn’t meant it as a distraction, but as encouragement, a silent way to say how very ok with this he was.

Nick couldn’t let anything be easy though, making an sharp sound at the apparently unexpected touch, turning his face to Dean’s wrist, his own hand coming up to cover Dean’s as he leaned heavy into that small but apparently important connection.

This  _ was  _ different than last night, Dean could admit to it. 

This wasn’t two teens making out in the front seat of the car, slow exciting exploration mixed with laughter and shy looks. 

This was something altogether more vulnerable and uncertain.

“I shouldn’t have come downstairs,” Nick whispered against Dean’s wrist.

“Dude. Downstairs is  _ awesome _ .”

Slowly Nick opened his eyes, an awful smile creeping in as he struggled to find a retaliation, coming up with a defeated sounding, “Downstairs is… this isn’t my home anymore.”

A funny feeling twisted in Dean, this weird something that didn’t seem to have anything to do with the way his knees fit so comfortably on either side of this man’s hips.

Pushing himself up as much as he could considering he was still firmly underneath a hell of a lot of man, Dean managed to kiss that oddly damning smile right off Nick. “Maybe it technically isn’t, but for the next few days it’s still  _ mine _ , and I kinda like the company.”

Apparently it was possible to laugh without any joy behind it, Nick chuckling and repeating, “for the next few days.”

“And I like the company,” Dean reiterated the far more important part of what he’d said, because it seemed that Nick hadn’t been listening to the whole thing. 

With a sudden and clearly irritable sound, the man sat up, kneeling on the bed with Dean’s hips in his lap. Despite the fact that Nick’s hands came to rest in a very friendly sort of place, his frown was anything but. Eye darkly shadowed and brows pulled low. “It’s good company… I like it too.”

“Don’t over sell me on it,” Dean chuckled, feeling fairly conflicted by the way that the other man’s thumbs were hooked into the front pockets of his pants. The touch making it harder than it should be to have the serious sort of talk that it seemed like they were about to.

Without skipping a beat, Nick asked, “Do you want to have sex?”

And so much for serious talks.

All Dean managed was to sputter and forget the entirety of the english language.

“I make bad choices,” Nick grumbled, shrugging one shoulder. “You obviously do too. And really no matter what we do today, best case scenario, you’re still fucking off when your brother comes home and I’m… I’m going back to my room.”

Dean actually hated this sudden feeling. This odd sort of surrender on the part of the other man.

“So, up to you.” Nick tightened his hold on Dean’s hips, “We can get up and have waffles for breakfast,  _ or  _ we can have some very good, very slow, exploratory kind of sex in the same bed that our brothers’ have been doing it in for the past two years.”   

“Dude. Wow,” Dean shook his head, pushing himself up despite the fact that it put him sitting in the other man’s lap, close and terrible. He knew he’d hate himself regardless of the choice he made here, and that kindled the smallest bit of anger. “Fuck that. Fuck you. And you know what? Fuck waffles. I’m making us pancakes.”

Nick cocked his head to one side, something on his mouth between a frown and a smile. “Yeah?”

“Did I stutter? Yeah. Pancakes.” Dean grunted, pressing the lightest kiss to the tip of the other man’s nose. 

“Pancakes?”

“Mother fucking pancakes.”

Nick’s thumbs were still in Dean’s pockets, digging into his hips, distracting from the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I… I don’t really like pancakes.”

Dean laughed and slid off the bed, with only the smallest resistance tugging at his sides. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, and I’ll just make us omelets instead. You weirdo.”

It took a strange level of confidence he didn't feel to head out to the kitchen, just trusting that the other man would follow in his own time instead of having some sort of… just whatever weird overreaction that Nick was obviously capable of having in this sort of situation. 

Which wasn't some wild assumption on Dean’s behalf, because he was pretty damn sure that he was currently having that crisis that he’d sworn he wasn't going to have. Never in his whole life had he turned down sex. Never. Sex was awesome and something told him that Nick would be an incredibly capable dancing partner. 

Or at least he  _ would have _ been. 

One night stands were a thing.

But that wasn’t the offer on the table. 

A quick fuck and breakfast in the morning before seeing himself out was fine in normal circumstances, because both parties were on the same page. 

But that wasn’t going to work for him and Nick because Dean  _ refused  _ to get himself onto that page. 

He’d already rattled the man’s cage enough. Screwing up any kind of normalcy that Nick might have had up until this point, simply by Dean existing down here and being too bored and lonely to mind his own damn business for a measly month.

No. 

Not Dean.

He just had to poke and prod and ruffle feathers until everything went sideways.

And boy had it gone sideways. 

Taking eggs from the fridge, Dean started looking for a bowl, grumbling to himself about pancakes and Los Angeles weather and how the dogs were not allowed to eat the egg shells. All the while his mind agonised over the fact that for whatever reason, for the first time in his life, he’d said no.

But, as stupid as it was, Dean wasn’t ready to make a change from regular every day son of a bitch, to manipulative and uncaring son of a bitch―which is exactly what he would be doing if he’d taken Nick up on that very tempting offer. 

The dog’s toenails started clicking wildly, and Dean glanced over to see that Nick had emerged from Sam’s room, hugging the wall, arms wrapped around himself as he eyed the apartment uneasily. 

“Too bright?” Dean stubbornly clung to ‘normal’ or as close to it as they ever got. 

“N-no. It’s ok,” though Nick’s narrowed eyes said differently. “Can I help grate cheese or something?”

Turning on the light over the stove, and flipping of the room’s light to darken the whole space, Dean took cheese and other fixings from the fridge and set them on the counter beside him. “Knock yourself out, boss.”

Almost sheepishly, Nick padded over to the food to lend a hand in their meal prep. He was the first to speak, not even looking up from his search for a cheese grater. “Not that my ego needs a good stroking or anything, but are we out here instead of back there because you’re particularly hungry or…?”

Dean groaned softly, rolling his eyes while whisking the cracked eggs as violently as  if they’d personally insulted his mother. “Because― god. Really? You wanna do this” 

Nick hummed softly in agreement, still fixated on his work, the both of them very almost pretending that the other wasn’t there. 

“Because,” there was no good way to say this without it getting mushy and mushy was the worst. “Because if you wanted a quick hook up you could have just gone on Grider and found some dude without enough self preservation to  _ not _ come to a random man’s creepy dark apartment to get laid. But you didn’t.” Dean sighed, rubbing at his forehead with the back of a hand. “You took three weeks to make it down some stairs and I’m headed home in four days and it’s just not fuckin’ fair to you is all. Like, come on, dude, I ain’t leaving you a worse mess than you were when I arrived.”

“You say it like me coming down here had anything to do with you.”

“ _ Please _ . I’m irresistible.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Dean looked over with a grin. “Thank you.”

“I came down here because I wanted to,” Nick pushed the cutting board towards Dean, grumbling under his breath. 

“Oh sure. I mean, got to check out what they’ve done with your old place, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly,” Dean agreed, glancing up at the other man and finding himself unable to hold back a smile. “Not to stroke that ego of yours or anything, but you are actually fuckin’ gorgeous, and I’m not sure that you know that, or if you’ve heard it recently. So… yeah.”

Color blossomed over Nick’s cheeks and he hid a smile by moving to put the cheese back in the fridge. 

Dean saw it though, if only for a fleeting second and with a slight blush of his own, he tried to focus on the food. If this would be the only meal he got to cook for the other man then he was determined as hell not to burn it.

 


	9. Regrets, but only about the right things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, I think this chapter has officially made myself and my beta reader nervous, so I think I've done a good job XD  
> I can say that I know how this one ends, and it's happy, like legit it's the sugary sweet sort of happy, but those of you who've been with me for a while know that I like to get to my happy endings by taking the long way there via The Pain Train™

“Do you have to always watch me like that?”

“Like what?” Dean hadn’t realised that he’d been staring again, and quickly refocused on the last few bites of his omlett as if he hadn’t already been caught. 

“Like I’m some kind of cryptid just come in from the desert to sit on your furniture and enjoy a home cooked meal.” 

Dean looked up to catch the other man smiling faintly. “You’re really more of the ghost in the attic come down into the light for the first time, don’t you think?”

The exasperated look on the other man’s face said he did not.

“Oh come on.” Dean laughed, gently elbowing Nick, trying not to think about the way that he found himself casually touching this man far more than he intended to. “I’m sure that Meg and your brother look at you weird all the time.”

“I don’t think so? One of the nice things about it being so dark upstairs,” with a sharp exhale, Nick leaned back in his chair, tipping his head towards the door between apartments, “it’s not just easy on my eyes, but also means no one can really see me.”

“Dude, you got some issues,” which Dean meant in the most affectionate way.

“If I like being a ghost then what’s the issue?”

“Because there’s a whole fuckin’ world outside that attic ghosts don’t get to visit. Granted, LA sucks and it hotter than the surface of the sun half the time, but there’s other stuff out there?”

“You do know I wasn’t born upstairs, right? I’ve been outside.”

“Yeah? When was the last time?”

Nick squirmed in his seat before finally taking his empty plate and setting it on the floor for the dogs to investigate, mumbling almost inaudibly, “Five-ish, almost six years.”

“Dude.”

And possibly in the most defensive way imaginable, Nick answered with a sullen, “I’ve got the internet. It’s like going outside but better.”

“Ok, nerd.”

Under the table Dean got a swift kick to the shins.

“The one time I’ve ever pushed past the anxiety of leaving the apartment I came downstairs and got myself stuck with this obnoxious house sitter for the neighbor, and the guy’s got no respect for personal space, he’s rude as hell, and he keeps touching me, an’ watching me while I eat in the creepiest way possible.”

“Sounds like an awesome guy.”

Nick rolled a shoulder in something like a shrug. “I mean… I’ve met worse people?”

“Now don’t you go gettin’ all mushy on me,” Dean teased, reaching between them to touch the man’s arm, but chickening out and resting his hand on the table instead.  

“I’ll try to keep my feelings in check,” was the soft promise as Nick rose up from his chair to loom over Dean for a handful of seconds before frowning leaning down to kiss him. 

It didn’t really fit with the words he’d just said, but Dean was in no position to argue. Or at least he had no desire to argue, instead putting a hand on either of Nick’s cheeks and arching up into him to deepen the kiss. 

There seemed to be something that Nick had wanted to say, because twice he pulled back to look at Dean with obvious annoyance on his face, before licking his lips and returning to the increasingly messy kissing. This was far closer to how last night on the stairs had gone, which was to say it was all too easy to get lost. 

Nick tasted faintly of tabasco sauce, lips chapped, light stubble rough under Dean’s fingers. They were all small landmarks, little places to linger, while his stomach twisted into delightful knots.

By the third time that Nick broke away to scowl, Dean was surprised to realise that the man was now kneeling on the floor between his knees, though it was a mystery as to when he’d put himself there. That disapproving look of his had lost most of its bite, the darkness swimming in his eyes undermining whatever anger he was trying to cling to. 

Letting out a shaking breath, Dean chuckled and asked, “Not for nothin’, but anyone ever told you, you look good on your knees?”

“Fuck you,” Nick whispered with a soft laugh, turning his face away. “I was just trying to give you a goddamn kiss goodnight.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but seeing as it’s not even noon? I’d say you really suck at this.”

Still laughing that breathy laugh of his, Nick shook his head. “I- I need to get some sleep.”

Dean had almost forgotten that this man here was nocturnal. Maybe letting him go was a good plan. “Alright, alright,” he slid his hands from the man’s cheek to lace his fingers together behind his head, “but one more for the road.”

Nick allowed himself to be pulled back in, speaking against Dean’s lips, “how does this fit in with the whole ‘no we can’t fuck around because you’re leaving in a couple days’ situation from back on the bed?”

“Christ, Nick. I’m not a saint.” Dean laughed with a painful sound that rose up from somewhere deep down and aching. “I like you, so the plan’s to not come off as a total jackass by fuckin’ you and then saying goodbye and never seeing you again. But you make it pretty damn hard to be the good guy here when you’ve got your hands on me like this.”

“I’m going to gloss over the way you just offhandedly told me you’ve no intention of ever coming back out here to visit your brother because that’s something that’s been in the back of my mind since I took the lock of the door and I’ve lost sleep trying to convince myself not to let it bother me, and instead ask with as much disgust as I can pretend to have right now:  _ you’re going to blame me _ ? Because from where I sit this here is  _ all  _ your fault.”

There was something terrible about everything that Nick had said, and everything that he wasn’t saying. But Dean could only deal with one problem at a time and so naturally he picked the easier one. “And how is this my fault?”

“ _ How _ ? Can you not see yourself sitting there? I want to wish I’d never opened the door, and I want to hate you and your stupid smile―” though no one would accuse Nick of being good at eye contact, he sure made a hell of a lot of it while his hands slid slowly down from Dean’s sides, to his thighs, very deliberately pushing them further apart, making a space for him to press in against Dean, “and instead all I’ve got is how much I want to touch you, and how your awful laugh does terrible things to me, and how much I want to drag you up to the attic with me, close the door behind us, and keep you.”

“Way to go making me feel guilty, turned on, and a little worried all in one go.”

“I have a very specific set of skills.”

Dean fought down the impulse to ask to see Nick’s ‘set of skills’. Their position was already compromising enough on its own without the addition of any innuendos. 

The other man was watching him from far too close, their mouths very nearly touching, bodies pressed together from chest to hip, Nick’s eyes seemingly fixed on Dean’s lips.

It was very difficult to say if any of that was good or bad. 

All Dean knew was that however this went next he’d end up with regrets of some flavor or another. Maybe in the next few minutes, maybe in the next few days. Definitely by the time he got back to Kansas.  

“So,” he cleared his throat, “what um, what do we do now? One last kiss good night or…? 

“Your pick,” Nick said rather damningly.

“I picked last time.”

“You’re the house guest. I’m being  _ hospitable _ ,” there was laughter in Nick’s voice, even if he was too close to see if it came with a smile.  

“Excuse you, mister attic ghost, but this is  _ my _ place. You’re the guest. You pick.” Dean hadn’t had an argument this childish in a while, and it helped to lighten a bit of the horror to the weight of the question they kept passing back and forth. “You want to go up to bed by yourself, or you want some company?”

Nick didn’t answer with words, probably a good idea seeing as things only seemed to get more complicated every time they tried to talk their way through this mess they were making of one another. Instead they went back to kissing. 

After all, kissing was so much easier to understand than just what the hell they were going to do about later. Dean didn’t have to consider why he was dreading Sam coming back home.  Kissing didn’t require any planning or talking about any feelings that they may or may not be having despite their best intentions. 

Kissing was just kissing. 

And touching was just touching.

And Nick rocking his hips slowly against Dean’s was just a very nice addition to the whole lovely thing where thoughts and good choices had not been invited. 

Personally, Dean prefered not coming in his jeans like a teenager on his first date, but every time he pulled back enough to try and suggest moving to the couch or one of their bedrooms, he’d get too distracted by the pale blush on Nick’s cheeks, and the way that he’d bite his lip and rub harder against Dean.

No place at all for talking.

This here was one of those things though. One of those things that Dean had never planned on doing, but damn everything if he wasn’t going to do it right. 

Keeping his eyes closed he pulled back, pressing unsteady fingers over the other man’s lips. “Nick… bed.”

Which earned him a low chuckle and an open mouthed kiss to his fingers. “No. I let go of you an’ one of us is changing his mind.” That kiss worsened, including a bit of tongue and inviting in all sorts of tempting mental images.

Not only did Nick seem to be underestimating how stubborn Dean could be, but was also giving him credit for higher brain function he simply didn’t have at this point. 

“I’m not doing laundry again today, you son of a bitch,” opening his eyes and feeling his stomach do a neat little flip, Dean took his fingers from the man’s mouth with a wet sound. Slipping a hand to either cheek, he bit at Nick’s lower lip and stood. It was far from a graceful movement, both of them tripping over each other’s feet while they tried to find their footing. It ended with a lot of laughter, which was a good sign.

“Upstairs,” Dean was already starting to tug Nick towards the staircase. 

“Your room is closer.”

“Yeah but,” Dean tried to think past the nearly overwhelming need to pull the other man down onto the table and get his legs back around those hips, “your room, your bed, so you can go to sleep after.”

Nick laughed with this startled, disbelieving sort of sound, looking at Dean like he’d never seen him before. 

“Shut up. I just like knowing that you’ll still be there when I wake up if I… you know, if I catch a nap after.” It sounded so much better in his head. Better before he had to try and explain it. This romantic sort of gesture that probably was really nice and didn’t deserve the reception it was getting. Irritated in a way that he enjoyed, Dean pulled off his shirt, throwing it at the other man as he made his way up the stairs. “You coming or not?”

___

When Dean woke it was deceptively dark. No soft glow of electronics, no streetlight coming in through the window. Confused, he patted around for his phone to check the time, only his phone wasn’t there. Instead his fingers brushed against warm, bare skin. 

“Oh,” he chuckled and stretched, pulling his hand back. “Hey?”

No answer other than slow even breaths.

With it being dark enough that Dean wasn’t even positive that his eyes were open, all he could do was lay there and let his thoughts catch up with him. And he hadn’t been drinking, so his mind was almost too clear, his thoughts falling into place like a picture show.

Blindly, he reached back over the small space between him and Nick, lightly touching the sleeping man’s arm, silently waiting to decide how to feel about this.

If asked to list off all the people he’d ever slept with, Dean would have struggled. So many pretty girls had come and gone over the years, many interchangeable with each other, nothing particularly special about most of them, though he’d done his best to treat them all like queens for the time that they’d spent together. Some had lasted hours, some for a couple dates, some upwards a handful of months.

There were names for guys like Dean. Unkind sorts of names that he’d always worn with pride because it was something like an achievement. 

All those girls.

And one guy.

Just one.

Like a dark stain at the bottom of the list.

A name that had no business being on that long and illustrious list.

And Dean knew exactly how to feel about it.

So rarely did life give him such easy decisions to make. 

“Hey,” he whispered again, not expecting an answer. The mattress under him was lumpy and probably should have been replaced years ago, the whole thing bouncing and jostling as he scooted―and if it wasn’t for all that bouncing he probably could have done it without waking the other man. 

But Nick jumped awake, mumbling confused little sounds as Dean clumsily slid a hand over his cheek in the dark and kissed him. 

“Hey,” it was Dean’s new favorite word and he pressed it like a promise to the quirked corner of the other man’s mouth.

“Is the apartment on fire?” Nick asked with a yawn.

“No?”

“Then why are you waking me up?”

Dean hadn’t planned to wake him though, so he had to come up with a reason real quick. “To … to tell you that I’m headed down stairs to walk the dogs.”

“Fantastic. You do that. I’m going to sleep.”

“Ok, boss.”

“An’ get a shower. You smell like sex.”

Dean found the other man’s mouth again for a slow and thorough kiss. “ _ You _ smell like sex.” 

“Fuck yeah I do.” Nick pushed at him, a gentle shove in the pitch dark room. “Now go away. I need my beauty sleep.”

Tugging his jeans up was the easy part. Finding his way to the door was more of a challenge since Dean hadn’t ever been in here before and still couldn’t see a damn thing. After a lot of slapping his way along a wall he found a door handle but not before a faint light came on behind him.

“That’s a closet,” Nick advised.

Dean looked over his shoulder to see the other man holding aloft a phone for light, sprawled out on his bed, rumpled and tired, his sweat pants pushed low enough that they weren’t serving much of a purpose. 

Without a thought Dean took a hungry step closer. It was oddly liberating that for the first time in his life he was embracing all those thoughts and cravings that had always been there suffering quietly in the corner where he shoved them. 

Liberating, but damning in its own way.

The timing all wrong.

Maybe earlier they hadn’t had the patience needed for anything more than trading hand jobs and kissing like they’d invented it―but it was now obviously way past Nick’s bedtime and the man looked like he was already falling back asleep, slowly hugging the phone to himself, eyes closing. 

Forcibly, Dean saw himself out of the bedroom and into the hallway with its soft night light glow. Cheeks hurting from the smile he was wearing, he found his way down the stairs. After a quick shower he took both over eager dogs on a walk to the dog park and let them run around and splash in the kiddy pools until both beasts were laying flat on their bellies in the water, panting and grinning.  

For the first time since arriving in California it wasn’t disgustingly hot, so they swung by a fast food joint on the walk home and he got both the kids a burger with nothing on it, which the dogs inhaled and then sat eagerly watching Dean eat his own lunch at a more sedate pace.

It was a nice afternoon all around.

Going back to the apartment, Dean saw a package on the front step, another couple car parts sent from Bobby. Which meant the afternoon was even better. 

Dogs were fed, air conditioner cranked up, and knowing he had at least a few hours left until the ghost upstairs started to stir, Dean took himself to the garage. 

His uncle had really come through with the replacement Aston Martin parts. It wasn’t like Dean could now magically bring the old girl back to showroom perfection, but Bobby sure had given him what he needed to get her running again. 

Not that Dean even knew why he felt a need to fix the car at all, especially considering the unfortunate backstory it came with. He figured maybe this is what EMTs feel when they saw someone hurt―this compulsion to help. 

With the garage door open wide, and the car’s radio tuned to a classic rock station, Dean went about replacing the twisted front grill and the smashed headlights, something very relaxing in the small but important changes. By the time he was done, sitting back on his haunches to admire his handy work, Dean decided that other than the crumpled edge of the hood, you almost couldn’t tell that the car had been wrecked. And really, a few hours in a body shop could bang out those extensive dents.

Wiping sweat from his face with the corner of his shirt, Dean stood. Nodding to himself in approval, he ran a hand over the roof of the car, talking to her not for the first time today, “Still not sure about the color, but your Michael knew his business. You’re a good old girl.”

Leaning in through the driver’s side window, Dean twisted the key and turned off the radio. There was an intention of putting the keys back into the glove box where he’d found them, but Dean dropped them when he saw Nick standing there in the doorway to the garage, silently haunting the small space.

“Hey?” Sudden nervousness made the word crack sharply and Dean winced. 

The other man wasn’t even looking at him though. 

Nick only had eyes for the car, for this old monster that had been living silently under him for years and if it weren't for the wetness on his cheek there would have been no visible emotion at all. 

It was only then that Dean realised how far he’d overstepped with this one.

Thinking as quickly as he could, but also mostly running his mouth, Dean said, “All the parts are still here. I can put her right back how she was.”

The hollows of Nick’s cheeks darkened. 

Trouble was no stranger to Dean. They were old friends. Very comfortable with each other. What he wasn’t comfortable with however, was being ignored.

“Or I can leave it how it is now...?”

Still grinding his teeth, Nick swallowed audibly and blinked. 

Nothing more. 

“Come on, man. Say something,” Dean laughed hollowly. “You’re killing me here.”

With a painful breath, the other man pushed both hands up over his face and held them there, a visible tremor in his shoulders. Slowly, so slowly, one hand reached out, and he crooked a finger at Dean to come closer. 

And Dean, like the fool he was, did.

He’d expected a lot of things other than the sharp left hook that caught him in the temple, and even if he’d had time to brace for it the hit still would have knocked him flat on his ass. Ears ringing, back of his head throbbing where it had bounced on the concrete floor of the garage, Dean laid there feeling like he’d been sucker punched by a truck. 

It was only when he heard the oddly loud sound of of furniture being moved around overhead that Dean realised he must have blacked out for a spell. 

Getting to his feet involved a lot of grasping at nearby objects and little to no dignity, same for his near drunken stagger back into the house. 

The door to upstairs was closed.

“Nick?”

That dragging sound beat Dean to the stairs.

“Nick, come on,” he tried to go up to the door but ended sitting on one of the steps, holding the side of his head and swearing at himself. 

It grew quiet above him, and as if they could sense something being off, both dogs came from the hall to click up the stairs and sniff at him. For the most part he ignored them, not having the mental capacity to deal with excited dogs on top of everything else.

He didn’t know how long he sat there nursing his aching head before calling up at the ceiling, “Talk to me man, I know you’re up there.”

Cher was the one to answer Dean. Music played far too loud filling the whole building. 

He could see how this was a reliable punishment for Gabriel. 

And if he’d been here, then Nick’s brother probably could have explained to Dean exactly how bad this was, and possibly how to fix it. Cars and plumbing Dean understood, this not as much. 

Slowly, still rubbing tentatively at his head, Dean took the dogs out back and called Meg. 

She answered on the third ring, confusion in her accusing greeting of, “Ok, but what happened?”

Dean sank down on the back porch, numbly taking the tennis ball that Cookie had brought him and throwing it as hard as he could. “How’d you know?”

“Why else would you be calling me?”

Sighing, he closed his eyes. “Nick saw the car and now he’s playing Cher and won’t talk to me.”

After a long silence, Meg asked, “What do you mean  _ saw _ ?”

“The fuck could I mean? I was working on it, and he saw it, and I need you to tell me what to do now.”

“He came downstairs?”

That wasn’t the point that Dean was trying to highlight here. That was the least of his current problems. Normally Dean wouldn’t have asked for the help, but even from the back yard he could hear that god awful music, and he knew when he was out of his depth. “What do I do to make the Cher stop?”

The woman on the other line grumbled and swore and promised to be over in half an hour. 

In half that time Meg was coming through the side gate, followed by two girls with dark brown hair, the taller one holding a pizza box. The kids looked dubiously at Dean, but then noticed the dogs and their faces lit up. 

Meg rescued the pizza and passed it off to Dean before the dogs could notice it. She looked up at him, wholly focused on the side of his face, slowly shaking her head.  “Well, hopefully he got that all out of his system. Ok, I’ve got the kids this week, so this is Corinne and Sabrina. I couldn’t find a sitter and I guess you’ll have to do.”

“I’m not good with kids.”

“I’m not asking you to be. Let them eat their pizza and play with the dogs. If it takes me too long to deal with whatever the hell you did to Nick, just let their girls watch some tv. They’re teenagers, they pretty much take care of themselves.”

Dean guessed that showed how long he’d been out of school, because the two girls looked far too young to his eyes to be teens. At least they seemed fairly enamored with the dogs, and the feeling looked mutual, so hopefully he wouldn’t have to do anything.

Meg marched herself up the stairs, and from the yard Dean watched her pull out a set of keys and let herself in, then mercifully the music cut off. It should have been a relief, but all it was was an awful lot of quiet to make room for Dean’s thoughts.

Not that he was watching the time or anything, but it was nearly three hours before Meg came in the backdoor to Sam’s place and set herself down at the kitchen table. 

The little girls were tucked together on the couch, both with a lap full of a sleepy dog, watching some baking contest show, which Dean was more than happy to abandon in favor of joining their mom on the other side of the room. 

“So?” He asked quietly.

Meg hand been looking down at her hands, but she turned her fact up to Dean, and fixed him with a withering glare.

“That bad?”

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t I tell you to avoid pushing him, or mentioning his dead brother, or the car?”  

“I didn’t talk about his brother.”

With a pained sound, Meg ran her hands through her hair. “You’re both  _ fucking  _ idiots.”

Meg’s daughters suddenly perked up, the profanity some kind of siren’s call, turning them from their show to look at the adults with eager expressions. And Dean remembered being that young, when hearing his parents swear felt like Christmas.

Not even glancing towards her girls, Meg said in that same irritated tone, “This isn’t about you two. We can talk about it later, but for now watch your show. And as for you―”

Dean pointedly didn’t not shrink as her attention focused in on him. 

“I don’t even know where to start with the shit you two are pulling on each other. But I’m not your mom, I’m not your therapist, and I’m not your priest. I’m not going to tell you what to do, just like I didn’t tell Nick what to do. You guys are on your own.”

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me. I’m not fixing this for you two. You’re adults and you can fucking talk about your problems. I  _ am  _ going to say, you might want to lay off having sex with each other until your sort this out, but again, not your mom.”

“I―” Dean found that he was more than slightly mortified that apparently Nick had told Meg about that morning, but significantly more bothered by the way that the girls on the couch had started whispering and giggling. He cleared his throat and refused to let the judgement of two teenagers get the better of him. “He wasn’t really in a talking mood last time I saw him.”

“Yeah. He’s never in a talking mood.” Meg flipped open the pizza box lid and let it fall back when she saw it was empty. “But if it helps, he’s not mad at you specifically.”

“Could have fooled me.”

She smiled for the first time since coming downstairs, this very strained, crooked smile. “Not going to lie to you, you’ve screwed him up pretty bad since coming here. Everything’s a mess up there. There’s a couch at the top of the stairs, the mattress is off the frame―  _ but _ his shower is fixed so now he can lay in the bottom of the tub and I don’t have to worry about him drowning or getting his toe caught.”

“He’s done that before?”

“Way too many times.”

Dean smiled and hated it.

“He doesn’t do well with change. Give him time to process, that’s the only advice I’ve got for you… and maybe watch out for that left hook.”

“Advice I could have used a few days ago.”

“Yeah well, you’ve ignored everything I’ve told you so far.”

Dean rolled his eyes and rested his elbows on the table. 

“But… maybe keep ignoring me. None of us have been able to talk him out of his cave for almost six years an’ you got him downstairs in less than a month. So maybe what the hell do I know?”

It wasn’t helpful.

Meg hadn’t magically fix the mess that he’d made.

But she’d stopped the music, and given him the smallest bit of hope that maybe, just  _ maybe _ Nick wasn’t pissed off at him directly.

Meg went to go grocery shopping for the ghost upstairs, and very reluctantly left her daughters behind to finish their show. Which would have been fine with Dean, the kids didn’t really need a babysitter and he’d thought he could just spend some time agonizing over his mistakes in peace. 

Unfortunately for him, that’s not how it worked. 

The woman left and less than a minute later a chair scraped on the floor and he looked up to realise that he’d been flanked by Corinne and Sabrina.  

“Hello?” Dean asked slowly, unsure what they wanted from him.

The taller of the girls leaned in, whispering, “Did you really have sex with Uncle Nick?”

Dean might have laughed with a panic tightness to his chest. “ _ Uncle Nick _ ?” 

The smaller sister chimed in, “he’s not  _ really _ our Uncle. He’s just Mom’s friend.”

“Neat, um, how’s your guys’s show going?”

“What was it like?”

Dean turned back to the older daughter and did his best to keep his expression blank. “I think this is a conversation your mom wouldn’t like us having.” 

“We don’t have to tell Mom.”

“And I don’t have to tell you. Go back to your show.”

The girls giggled, and stayed at the table. 

So Dean retreated, getting food for the dogs and finding things to waste the time until Meg came back to retrieve her overly curious offspring. 

When the house was finally his again, and he was alone, and there were no more questions about ‘who was on top’ and ‘did it hurt’, Dean sank to the couch and stared blankly at the cooking show. 

At some point the dogs started whining at him and when Dean rolled off the couch to let them out he was surprised to see that it was getting dark. Which meant that he’d lost a few hours sitting there and not thinking about anything at all. 

What a waste.

Steeling himself, he went back inside and called up, “I’m going to make some dinner. What do you want?”

Dean didn’t know why he thought that would work for them.

“Or I can go pick us up some sushi―though I might get some funny looks ‘cause of this amazing black eye I’ve got going on.”

No one answered him.

“Ok, well, I’m guessing you’re a crab and eel kind of guy, so that’s what I’m getting you.” Dean made the biggest most open ended offer that he knew how and felt like he was still coming up short. “Text me if you want something different.”  

And then came the most nervous car ride that Dean had ever had. He was straining to hear if he got any notifications on his phone, checking it at every stop light, expecting any moment to have some short and snarky text about dinner.

He never got one. 

When he got back home he took the styrofoam box of sushi around the back of the house and up the stairs. Then proceeded to stand there in the dark, looking at the door, trying to think of something good to say. 

But somehow ‘sorry I messed with your dead brother’s car’ didn’t feel like the right sort of thing, same went for ‘sorry you have a dead brother’. So Dean knocked, and waited, and knocked again. 

“Nick. Come on. Only thing worse than sushi is warm sushi.” He pressed his forehead to the door frame and sighed as loud as he could, hoping that the sound carried to the other side. “Don’t make me have to eat this for you. I really hate fish.”

The lock turned and slowly the door cracked open. 

Dean straightened and offered a grin with the promise of, “Dinner,” but it was dark inside and he couldn’t see who he was grinning at. 

A hand reached through the crack in the door and tried to take the box, but Dean held on.

“Why are you doing this?” Nick’s voice sounded strange, rougher than normal. 

“Because I’m trying to fix things.”

“There’s nothing to fix. Things just are how they are.”

“That’s bull shit, Nick.”

“Can I just have the food?”

“Can I come in?”

Nick let go of the box, but before he could fully run away and close the door between them Dean reached out and grabbed his wrist. “We don’t have to talk. God, it would be awesome to just not talk because I wouldn’t know what the hell to say. But I’m really good at just sitting there and shutting up if you don’t want to be alone.”

“You suck at shutting up.” Nick pulled his wrist free, but the door stayed open. “You can’t come in … but I’ll eat here at the door with you if you promise to just be quiet for once.”

Dean made the motion of zipping his lips and graciously handed over the food. It was a weird arrangement, but no weirder than anything else that they’d done this past month―and really, Dean was just happy that the door hadn’t slammed shut on him the moment the food left his hands.

He sat on the porch, leaning up against the wall, looking up at the smoggy skyline and listening to the distant traffic. Now and then he’d glance over to make sure that the door was still open and he could see faint movement on the other side. 

This wasn’t like the many, many fights he’d had with girlfriends over the years. Those had always been a great reason to walk away from a relationship before anything got complicated. Those fights had all also involved using words, which apparently wasn’t something that Nick was interested in. 

For the first time in his life Dean wanted to talk about what was wrong and found that he wasn’t allowed to. 

And even knowing it was a stupid idea, how it might only make matters worse, Dean reached back. Sliding his hand through the open door and reaching until he found the other man. It felt like a knee under the soft flannel of jammie pants. Nick didn’t pull away or hit him, so despite the awkward angle that it twisted his arm, Dean just let his hand rest there.

It wasn’t much, but it seemed all that he was currently allowed to give, and for now it would just have to be enough. 

  
  
  
  



	10. A homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just like being back in college, and finals are upon me and I get SO MUCH WRITING DONE.   
> I love it.   
> Granted, I feel guilty about it, because I should be working on other things, but I have a strong feeling that you (yes one of you if not all) are probably reading this when you should be doing something else.   
> So we can be distracting to each other and I think that's lovely, don't you?

Dean didn’t get to see Nick for the next few days. The guy would text ‘no thnx’ to food offers, and whenever Dean yelled up at the ceiling for the guy to knock on the floor as proof of life there came two sharp thumps. But that was all. 

And with no friend to talk to, and only so many times he could take his two dogs on a walk, Dean found himself doing research of all things. The search history on his phone showing cheerful things like: depression, dealing with death of a sibling, fear of going outside, what to do if your depressed, how to stop being sad, how to help a friend stop being depressed.

All of which pointed Dean towards a slightly optimistic view. 

Maybe Meg was right.

Nick didn’t seem directly mad at Dean despite the black eye that had bloomed into some truly lovely colors. The quiet ghost up there was just sad. Sad and there wasn’t anything Dean could really easily do to shake the man out of it.

So Dean took two days taking apart all the work that he’d done on the old yellow car, all the twisted and stained and busted pieces back where he’d found them aside from the windshield and the belts that he’d tossed out. It hurt him to hurt the car, but it’s what he could do.

That and talking to the ceiling knowing it wouldn’t talk back.

The night before Sam was supposed to get back, Dean found himself in a deeply detailed discussion on the best way to make steaks, occasionally addressing the ghost up there directly, most of the time just narrating what he was doing.

It was just this ramble of endless sentences, hardly leaving room for an answer, and he almost missed when he got one. 

Frowning, Dean glanced up, waiting to see if the muffled sound would be repeated. 

After what felt like an eternally long silence, Dean raised his voice, “You… you wanna run that one by me again?” 

It took a couple of minutes to get an answer, that space before words filled with the rough sound of furniture being dragged around, and then the door at the top of the stairs cracking open. Both dogs went bolting up the stairs and after the sound of their paws fading off somewhere towards the back of the house, Nick finally repeated himself. 

“I like mine rare, so stop fuckin’ cooking it.”

Dean felt his heart in his throat, and he smiled past that choking feeling. “You would like your steak rare, just like your fish. You monster.”

“I like my meat the way god intended it.”

“Still mooing feebly?”

A weak chuckle came down stairs.

“You like your fries raw too? Or can I put them in the oven for a bit?”

“God, were you always this difficult?”

“Absolutely.” Dean’s cheeks were hurting from the grin he wore, but he did his best to keep it pointed at the stove where the man upstairs wouldn’t accidentally be able to catch him. He felt stupid for how happy the sound of the other man talking could make him. But after days of only occasional knocking on the floor between them actual words felt like an unexpected pardon.

Cooking up the second steak that he’d been planning on sharing with the dogs, Dean made sure to only lightly brown it on both sides. Putting the food onto two plates with a little more flourish than necessary, Dean picked them up and hesitated. 

“Am I bringing food up to you, or…?”

“You’re not allowed up here anymore.”

Dean bit his tongue and fought down the instant desire to argue, because it had only ever been awesome when he’d gone up there and he didn’t understand the sudden banishment. “Alright. So, eating on the stairs just like old times?”

“Steak is probably a little easier to eat at a table.”

“Well… yeah,” Dean wasn’t sure what to do other than agree, sullen as he realised that he’d be passing off the food to the ghost up there and eating his last dinner here alone. He turned to walk up the stairs and stopped when he saw Nick coming down.

Nick stopped too, shoulders hitching as he looked at Dean and then down at the stairs, taking another slow step. “This ok?”

“Y-yeah. Of course.” Feeling like he was walking on eggshells, Dean set the two plates down on the table and took a couple beers from the fridge. Glancing over his shoulder to see how the other man’s slow navigation of the stairs was going, Dean felt an involuntary noise catch in his throat. Nick was right behind him. “Fuckin’ make some noise when you walk, why don’t you? I need to put a bell on your or something.”

“You need to not let people hit you,” Nick lightly ran a finger along the curve of Dean’s cheekbone. “You look awful.”

“Yeah well. The guy sucker punched me.”

“Can he tell you he’s sorry?”

“No,” Dean laughed, his chest aching with a feeling he didn’t want to put a name to. “It would get all kinds of weird. I’m not good with stuff like that.”  

“Can he give you a kiss instead?”

“See, now that  _ is _ the kind of thing that I’m very good with.”

After days of radio silence, a certain kind of expectation rolled through Dean and he closed his eyes as he leaned in a little eagerly―frowning when Nick softly placed a kiss on his temple. 

He opened his eyes and laughed. “ _ Really _ ?”

“Yeah,” Nick was looking at his feet, letting go of Dean and shuffling to the table, “really.”

This was going to kill Dean. It really would. He sat down and took a deep breath before asking, “We ok?” 

“You probably will be.”

“And you?”

“I’ve never been ok. Wouldn’t know how to even start.” Nick ate a fry and smiled faintly, never once looking over at Dean. “You think we can just eat and not talk?”

In answer, Dean took his beer and lightly knocked it against the other man’s. They could keep quiet. After all, this past month they’d done an awful lot of not talking. They were both sort of good at it. 

Not that the food wasn’t awesome, Dean was very good at making the few things that he knew how to make―but he’d let himself get very distracted by the way that Nick never looked up from his meal. It made it all too easy to watch him, and to worry about the sleepless bruises under the man’s eyes, or how raw his knuckles looked.

Taking a long drink, Dean got up and left the table, coming back with the first aid kit from under Sam’s bathroom sink. He sat back at the table, took the fork and knife from Nick’s hands and started cleaning them.

“What― no. Stop,” Nick grumbled and tried to pull away.

“Shut up, we’re eating, not talking.” Dean instructed in his most serious voice, ignoring the fact that he’d made it impossible for the other man to eat. 

Sullen, pouting like a champ, Nick sat there and let Dean patch him up.

After a lot of gentle scrubbing with rubbing alcohol, while smoothing the last of Sam’s bandaids into place, Dean mused softly, not expecting an answer. “Now… I know you hit me hard, but not  _ that _ hard, and your right hand didn’t touch me, so what the hell did you do to yourself?”

“I’ve got a punching bag.”

Dean frowned, glancing up. “And it decided to fight back?”

“I just didn’t wrap my hands. It’s not a big deal.”

It hurt to not let himself lecture this man, but Dean knew he was already pushing pretty hard, and part of him was very worried that if he went further Nick would just take himself back upstairs and vanish altogether. So he let go, pushed the medical supplies out of the way, and went back to his now cold food. 

Too quickly they both finished eating, and since they were supposed to shut up, Dean didn’t know what to do. After days of narrating all his actions out loud as a weak effort of communication with someone who didn't want to communicate, it felt strange to be so quiet. Everything had been strange since he’d come here though, so maybe it wasn’t a big deal. 

Except he wasn’t sure what to do other than sit there and pretend that he wasn’t watching Nick while the man idly pushed his last two fries around.

“Stop it,” Nick finally said, not even bothering to raise his gaze.

“Stop what?”

“You know what,” he threw one of the fries at Dean. “You have no idea how fuckin’ hard it is to be down here. I don’t need you getting all moony eyed at me on top of everything else. You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“It’s not that bad, man. At least I hope dinner wasn’t that bad. You didn’t really let me cook yours, so I can’t promise anything on the quality.”

“You’re amazing at not shutting up. You know that?”

“It’s one of my charms.”

“It’s horrifying. Stop it.”

Dean laughed, shrugging with his hands up, because he had absolutely no idea how else to respond to that. The laugh turned strange though as Nick grabbed one of his hands and pressed Dean’s fingers along his throat. The man’s pulse was pounding like a wardrum, and maybe he hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called it a heart attack. 

“Christ, Nick. You ok?”

“It’s called panic. I’m dealing with it.” He kept his grip on Dean’s hand, his own clammy and cold. 

“You didn’t have to come downstairs. I could have brought the food up to you.”

“Shut up?”

Sometimes Dean was good at following directions, and other times not as much. He raised his voice, angry at the situation more than the man, “Why the hell do you do this to yourself?”

Nick mumbled, hardly even opening his mouth as he answered.

Frustrated, Dean curled his hand around the back of the man’s neck and pressed their foreheads together, refusing to let Nick leave. The man didn’t have to talk. He just needed to stay, and calm down―something easier in theory than in practice, because his body was singing with tension. 

A subjective eternity passed before Nick let out a shaking breath that he’d been holding for far too long. “I wanted to make sure I got to see you before you left.”

What a fantastically new and easy way to make Dean feel like a jerk. “Hey… I  _ can _ come back and visit. And in the meantime, my brother Sam is kind of amazing. You might consider saying hi… telling him how much you hate the color of his walls. He’d get a kick out of that.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but fuck your brother.”

Dean chuckled.

“It was nice to have someone to talk to. And... I’m not goin’ to say anything else because I’ve had days to think about it and it’s all awful and makes me sound like more of a mess than I am.”

“Don’t know if you heard,” slowly, worried about what he’d feel, Dean brought his other hand up to Nick’s neck, “but they invented these things called phones.” 

“You don’t say.” His pulse was calmer, but not by much.

“Sure do. Let’s people in California talk to people all the way out in Kansas.”

“Wow. Amazing.”

“Right?”

“Dean?”

Chuckling softly, he waited and tried not to feel too hopeful.

“Shut the fuck up for once?”

The chuckle turned into a laugh, a laugh that got smothered by a bruising kiss that left Dean breathless. Stunned, he pulled back, licking his lips and searching the other man’s face.

“Hey,” Dean fumbled for words, “I’m not saying no, but I―”

“Oh my god. It’s not hard, Winchester.” Nick kissed him again, “You just,” and another kiss, “stop talking,” and another, “for one,” and another, “goddamn minute.”

Dean found the man’s argument fairly persuasive.

Persuasive enough that Dean didn’t have anything at all to say when Nick lead him by the mouth up from the table and back to the bedroom. 

Admittedly, he did try to ask a couple confirming sorts of questions at some point, but seeing as by then he was flat on his back, shirt pushed up, with Nick’s mouth on his hip, it was probably a little late to get any kind of clarification on how far this was going to go.

It went exactly how far Dean wanted it to go, which was two times over, all very slow and rough in the sort of way that made his toes curl his back arch, Nick’s name on his lips like a prayer. 

For whatever reason he didn’t expect the man to still be there in the morning. 

Maybe he’d been waking up alone for too long. 

Maybe he’d just sort of expected Nick to be the same sort of son of a bitch that he was.

And Dean always tried to dim the lights for his friend, tried to make sure it wouldn’t be too bright to hurt his eyes. There was something sort of special laying there in bed, early morning light coming in through the thin curtains, highlighting Nick’s perfect sleepy frown on his bitten and scared lips, making pale shadows under the arch of his collar bone. 

The special sort of something that was utterly crushed when he realised what had woken him up.

Cookie was dancing in the doorway to the room, rubbing her side repeatedly along Sam’s leg. Happy that her dad was home. By the look on his face, a lot happier than Sam was.

“What the actual hell, Dean?”

Dean hissed softly, “Don’t you dare wake him up.”

“Who is he?” Sam demanded, even as his voice dropped to a whisper. “And why the hell is he naked in my bed… and why are  _ you  _ naked in my bed?”

“Because sex is easier without clothes on?”

The look of horror on Sam’s face was wholly worth the discomfort gripping at Dean’s chest.

“It’s a fair point,” Nick yawned sleepily and pulled an arm over his eyes, mumbling, “though we were both pretty much dressed the first time.”

If only to annoy his brother, Dean tried on a casual tone asking, “Did the first time really count?”

“You came didn’t you?”

A grin started to crack through as Dean nodded wisely. “That’s fair. That’s fair.”

“Oh my god,” Sam’s face was delightfully red with embarrassment and annoyance. “Get out of my bed and get dressed. Both of you.”

“I’m Nick by the way,” the man beside Dean offered, arm still over his eyes as he spoke. “Probably should have said hello sometime in the last two years. This isn’t the most ideal way to finally meet your brother in law.”

“Says who?” Dean demanded. “You’ve got that after sex kinda’ glow, and you know I think you’re fuckin’ hot. This is totally how I would have prefered to meet you.”

A sideways grin flashed over Nick’s face, a hint of pink creeping up his neck. “Shut up, Winchester.”

Somewhere in the apartment behind Sam a man started calling for Nick, a rather worried hitch to his tone.

“Oh god,” Nick actually curled in against Dean’s side as he peered up from under his arm, glaring at Sam. “You brought him home with you?”

For the first time since coming to the room, a itch of a smile pulled at Sam and he shrugged, “He does live here.”

“Yeah, but you could have easily killed him and hid the body somewhere out in Mexico where no one would ever find him.” Nick pressed his face into Dean’s neck, whispering, “I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

The very recognisable sound of someone pounding down the stairs was the only warning they got before Nick’s brother pushed past Sam and came into the room.

Dean hadn’t been ready for the height difference between Sam and his new husband, and a startled laugh burst out. The man was pocket sized and adorable in the way that worry on his face melted into wide eyed shock as he stood there staring at the bed.

The gravely whisper against Dean’s throat made a fantastic offer, “I will pay you actual money if you take him out and kill him for me―real quiet like.”

Running a hand through Nick’s hair, Dean grinned, then squirmed as stubble and teeth teased at the spot behind his ear. 

“Ugh,” Sam made a soft retching noise. “Not in my bed. Come on. Can you two please put some pants on and get up so I can burn my sheets?”

Laughing, Dean tried to sit up, pulling blankets with him.  _ Tried _ was the operative word, because Gabriel was suddenly bounding onto the bed, crawling over Dean to hug a seemingly unwilling Nick. 

“Fuckin-a, Nicky, you left the apartment,” Gabriel cooed like a proud parent while managing to fight back his older brother’s struggle to get away. “You actually left. I mean, yeah, this is your old room, but you came downstairs. Can I make you a cake or something?”

“You can get off me?” Nick offered the alternative as he tried to straight arm his brother away, despite Gabriel’s determined hugging.

“Alright. Alright,” Gabriel kissed both his brother’s cheeks and mercifully let go, only to turn his attention to the other man on the overcrowded bed. “Holy hell, Dean-o. Was that shiner in exchange for dragging his sorry ass down here?”

Trying to find a way to edge off the bed without exposing himself to the room, Dean chuckled and shrugged. “Something like that.”

“If I’d have known you were the stubborn brother whisperer I would have talked Sam into inviting you over years ago.” 

Dean frowned but otherwise didn’t really have a response to that.

After a month alone with himself and occasionally Nick, it was a bit of a relief to have Sam back, because Sam could read Dean easier than anyone else. In one smooth movement, the younger Winchester leaned over the bed and simply picked up Gabriel, tossing him over a shoulder like a sack of flour as he shot an apologetic look down to Dean. 

A second thing that morning that Dean had absolutely no response to.  

It was just so strange to see Sam like this, ring on his left hand, lightly patting his husband’s back as he totted him out of the room. His little brother looked so at ease, comfortable in his own skin in a way that Dean had never noticed to be missing until it wasn’t anymore. Strange but not bad. 

“Well,” he chuckled under his breath, running his hands through his hair, “that was… interesting.”

“Good interesting or bad interesting?” Nick asked softly from behind him. 

“Not sure how to feel about that brother of yours.”

“He’s your brother now too,” Nick pointed out, fingers softly tracing lines up Dean’s back to a shoulder. “I more meant how you feel about Sam finding out.”

Dean turned to look at Nick, grinning. “Always planned on telling him. This was a little more instant but… not mad about it.”

The man had curled back on his side as if he were still tucked up against Dean, pale eyes watching him. It was an expectant look.

Dean couldn’t hold the man’s eye for too long before he swung his legs off the bed and found his boxers. “H-how do you feel about your brother finding out?”  

“Gabe? Fuck Gabe. If it was up to me he’d never find out I came down here.”

“Ah, wanting to keep me your dirty little secret I see,” Dean teased as he got dressed, tossing clothes to the other man.

“I’d have liked to have kept that little bit of you,” the words sounded easy except for the weighted undertone. 

Dean looked back to see Nick sliding off the bed, slipping pants on, and he waited for the man to be at least half dressed before pulling his arms around those surprisingly tight shoulders. It took an uneasy breath before Nick reluctantly hugged back.

Fingers curling tight in the taller man’s hair, Dean whispered, “Just tell me what you want me to say, man. I’m not good at this kinda’ thing.”

“Not how it works,” Nick laughed.

“I… I can stay another day or two?” He offered uncertainty.

Laugh getting a little deeper, more genuine, Nick pressed their cheeks together. “I get so tired telling you to shut up. You know that?” 

Dean squeezed, smiling at the soft grunt he got from the other man, before teasing and demanding again, “Just tell me what I’m supposed to say here, you weird son of a bitch.”

“You’re supposed to wait for me to tell you that I’m going to go upstairs and lounge in my working shower, enjoy how people-free it is up there, then you say ‘ok’ and let me go while you go out there and catch up with your brother.”

That would be a hell of a lot easier than any of the other things that Dean was trying to brace for, so he dipped his head and let go of Nick. “Ok… enjoy your shower,” and he would have left the room except for that look on the other man’s face. Rumbling with a sigh somewhere between longing and annoyance, Dean stepped back in and gave Nick a slow, open mouthed kiss.

It wasn’t meant as a distraction, or an apology, or even a goodbye. The kiss was simply a punctuation at the end of all that they’d done the night before.

With a content sigh, Nick pulled away, smiling crookedly at Dean. “Ok, but that was the last one.”

“Last one? What last one. I’m not going home right now.”

“No. But I  _ am _ , and I already told you, you’re not allowed upstairs anymore.”

“That is the dumbest thing you’ve ever said to me. Get back over here. If it’s going to be the last one I can do a hell of a lot better than that,” and Dean’s heart skipped when he saw the way his words made Nick’s eyes so bright.

Not that there had been a damn thing wrong with the previous kiss, but Dean made a point to put everything he didn’t have words for into their new last kiss.

There was no way it counted as a last kiss.

Last  _ kisses _ maybe, but definitely not a single kiss goodbye. Neither of them managed to pull away for longer than a breath, and it should have been that same sort of thrilling as that first time on the stairs. All kinds of excitement with each lingering kiss. Dean found his heart fluttering against his ribs and eventually he decided that it hurt in a way he didn’t like and he made himself take a generous step backwards.

“Ok,” Dean bent his mouth into a smile. “Enjoy your shower.”

“I will,” Nick promised with a quick wink, and with a deep breath he moved around Dean and out of the room. 

Right about then Dean was supposed to go out as well, to face his brother and his brother’s husband. Instead he leaned heavy against the nearest wall and tried to clear all the racing thoughts from his mind. 

“Hey,” Sam said gently and startled, but laughing, Dean looked up.

“Heya, Sammy?”

“You doin’ ok?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dean laughed again, pushing off the wall and slapping his brother on the back. “Come on. Let’s get some breakfast and you can tell me all about Mexico.”

It was a weak distraction, but Sam being the good brother that he was went with it. Dean made them pancakes and half listened to the stories―at least until Gabriel came back down stairs to join them and started elaborating and expanding on nearly everything that Sam had to say. 

If nothing else, Dean slowly decided that he might be able to like this new guy. Gabe had all his older brother’s charm and none of his restraint, and he made Sam blush and that was a couple points in his favor. 

“And that,” Gabriel waved widely with his syrupy covered fork, “is how I got us kicked out of the hotel we were staying at.”

“Thank you, Gabe,” Sam said with this long suffering sigh. “I could have gone my whole life without my brother knowing about that.”

Dean took a long drink from his coffee to hide the smile he was struggling to get under control. “Come on, Sammy, it might be important for me to know that you’re banned from all Grand Hilton hotels.”

Sam took it all with another overly dramatic sigh, getting up and taking his plate to the sink.

With a disgustingly sweet expression, Gabriel watched Sam go, leaning on an elbow and watching the guy wash his dishes like it was the most beautiful thing in the world. 

Dean thought he might actually be sick. “Ok, well, it’s been loads of fun, kids. But I need to get my stuff packed up.”

“What?” Sam turned, water running down his wrists. “I just got back. I thought you were going to stay for a few days.”

“Yeah, hold it, cowboy,” Gabriel’s brows pinched together. “You’re not going anywhere before you tell me just what the hell Sam and me walked in on this morning, because I didn’t forget about that―”

Dean cut him off by slapping a hand down on the table. “How about it took two years for Sam to tell me about you, so I’ll wait two years before spilling the beans about me and Nick.”

The weight of Sam’s patent bitch face was a physical thing and Dean squared his shoulders against it.  

“That’s not fair, Dean.”

“Not going to have a fight with you about fair, Sammy,” Dean almost sang. He wasn’t mad, but he also wasn’t in a sharing mood. “I like the guy,  _ didn’t  _ marry him, and really the rest of it is none of your business.”

“Hey, hey,” Gabriel leaned in close like they were sharing secrets. “I don’t care who did the devil’s tango with who, I just wanna’ know how you got Nick downstairs… unless that has to do with what you two did in mine and Sam’s bed, and then I’m going to kick myself for not finding some bow legged male model to seduce him out of hiding earlier.”

“First off, not bow legged, so shut up. Second, I did not seduce your weirdo brother,” Dean laughed uncomfortably as his mind decided to consider how that might have gone, “I offered him food, and fixed his shower, and told him about the Aston Martin.”

Blood drained from Gabriel’s face, making him look ill under that warm vacation tan he and Sam both had. “You didn’t,” he whispered in a horrified voice. 

“Did,” Dean promised, wondering if Nick could hear them up there, or if he was taking a nap in the shower.

Gabriel pressed his hands over his face and laughed in a manic way, “He’s going to kill me, he’s actually going to kill me.”

“He’s not going to kill you,” Sam eased, coming back to the table and lightly resting a hand on his husband’s shoulders. “I won’t let him.”

“It’s not a matter of  _ let _ . He’s got it all planned out. That’s why he didn’t do anything when I first came home. He’s going to wait for me to be asleep and then he’s going to crush me. He’s going to jump on me like Nero jumped on Poppaea―”

“Who?” Dean felt more than a little lost.

“Poppaea, she was his wife and she cheated on him, and he got mad and he jumped on her until he crushed her like a cockroach, and that’s what Nick’s going to do to me.”

Dean looked to Sam and half shrugged, “friends of yours?”

“Nero was the emperor or Rome,” Sam rolled his eyes like every person just happened to know the whole abridged history of the Roman empire. Then he looked back at his husband and reassured, “he’s not going to kill you.”

“You don’t know him, Sam. Nick is terrifying. He’s actually terrifying.”

“He’s harmless,” Dean defended the absent brother.

“Says the man who’s only known him long enough to get a black eye from him―and he obviously  _ likes  _ you.” Gabriel snorted, a brittle laugh bubbling up. “You have no idea what he’s going to do to me. Me that he’s known almost his whole life. Me that promised him I junked the car and donated all of Mikey’s stuff. Me that washed my new red sweater with his white shirts and turned them all pink… and yeah, that was like ten years ago, but I know he’s never forgiven me for it. Oh, Sam. Sweet Sam. It was lovely being married to you, but now I’m going to have to leave you and run away to Nepal to live out the rest of my life as a goat.”

Sam rolled his eyes like he was completely unfazed by such long rambling declarations, kissing Gabe’s cheek and looking to Dean. “Come walk Cookie with me?”

Anything to get out of this house and catch his breath.

With the dog trotting happily between them, Dean kept pace with his brother, hands deep in his pockets. It was probably two blissful blocks of quiet before Sam broke.

“So, um, do you liked guys too, or was it just because you found out that I did and you wanted to try it out?”

“Do you have any idea how weird you sound right now?”

“How else am I supposed to ask?”

“How would you ask it if you came in to find me with a girl?”

“I’d politely wait until she left and then I’d ask you what bar you picked her up at.”

“Classy.”

“I know you, Dean. Come on.”

“I like him. I’m allowed to like someone.”

“ _ Someone _ , yes. Gabe’s attic dwelling agoraphobic brother? That’s a little different. It kind of begs for someone to ask what happened to get you to that point.”

“You know, I don’t think it’s agoraphobia. I was reading up on some stuff and apparently a lot of depressed people in urban areas just feel safer inside, or they’re too overwhelmed by a lot of little things like getting out of bed or eating, so bigger events like going outside just get to be too much.”

“You’ve been  _ reading up _ ?”

“I had a lot of down time while you were gone. Ok?”

Sam got this sudden smile like he knew a secret, and he nodded. “Yeah. Ok. So… you like him.”

“Shut up.”

“He’s not bad looking.”

“Hell of a lot better looking than the bite sized brother you settled for.”

Sam kept on smiling like the jerk he was, and refused to argue.

It was frustrating. 

Not as frustrating as coming back to the house after their walk to see that Gabe was still alive and well. It meant that Dean was probably going to have to get used to the idea of this cheery little guy as his brother in law.

Begrudgingly, Dean agreed to stay until the next morning, after all, it meant time with Sam and he’d really really missed Sam. They got some good brotherly bonding time while Dean washed the bed sheets and Sam unpacked, there was even some nice takeout for dinner (a portion of which was nervously put at the top of the stairs by Gabe as an offering of peace). All well and good and familiar and happy―right up until it was time to turn in for the night. 

Oddly enough, the newlyweds seemed under the impression that they were going to share the downstairs bedroom. 

Which put Dean on the couch.

And sure, he’d slept on the couch a few times the past month, but there was a better option and he’d kick himself if he didn’t at least try for it. 

Seeing as the two other men were trying to sleep in the other room, Dean couldn’t do his usual yelling at the ceiling. So, laying on the couch, one leg dangling off onto the floor where his toes could play with Cookie’s tail, Dean sent a text, and waited, and waited, and waited.

The ceiling creaked above him and he blindly followed the movement from where he knew Nick’s bedroom was, over to the hall. Even in the dark he could see those pale legs peeking where they waited hesitantly on the top stair. 

Dean’s phone chimed and he looked at the screen and snorted. “The couch sucks,” he whispered loud enough for it to carry up to the other man. 

“Promise not to touch my stuff,” Nick whispered back like they were kids at summer camp and Dean loved it. 

Sliding off the couch, patting Cookie on the head, he took himself up the stairs and grinned when he saw that Nick wasn’t making room for him. “Do I have to fight you to get past, or is this one of those I have to answer your riddles things, or…?”

Nick picked at the upholstery of the couch that crowded the top of the stairs, doing everything in his power to not look at Dean on the step below him. “You’ve got to promise not to touch my stuff.”

“I’ve been in your room before,” he chuckled, “you and the bed were the only things I was touching. I promise not to mess with anything else.”

“I count as my stuff.”

Which didn’t sound horribly friendly considering how they’d started this morning, and Dean smiled tightly against his uncertainty before asking, “Does  _ all _ of you count?”

Nick folded his arms around himself and glanced at Dean. “All of me counts. I’m trying to work. So you can sleep on my bed but you’re not allowed to distract me.”

That got a grin out of Dean, and the little curl of dread in his stomach quieted. Letting Nick work was a nicely acceptable reason to keep his hands to himself―certainly better than any of the alternatives that had started to creep in. “I promise not to intentionally distract you,” Dead said with a wink.

“Don’t do it  _ accidently  _ either,” Nick smiled sideways and walked back to his room. 

“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m distractingly hot,” he laughed and followed, hesitating in the doorway and watching the other man settle down at a computer desk and pull on a set of headphones. It did remove any chance of talking, though Dean supposed that that wasn’t what he was up here for. 

Sighing, he crawled into the other man’s bed, stretching out and closing his eyes. Between the soft  _ click-clack _ of the keyboard and the oddly pleasing scent of Nick’s pillow, Dean found himself far more tired than he’d thought and very quickly he was asleep.  

  
  



	11. un-welcome home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3<3<3  
> that's all I've got in me today.  
> Too much stress not enough sleep  
> but always <3

Dean had bad dreams about leaving, and that probably said a whole lot more about his mental state than he was willing to asses at that point. He stirred awake multiple times in the middle of night, blinking in confusion each time while he struggled to remember where he was, smiling in spite of himself each time he recognised the man hunched in front of the computer screen. 

Without a clock or open window curtains, it was impossible to tell what time it was when he jumped awake to find Nick looming over him. 

With a bit of a sideways scramble and a ragged catch to his breath Dean struggled to fully wake. “Um... good morning?”

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned blearily and sat up on his elbows. “What time is it?”

“Almost four.”

Grunting in disgust, Dean flopped back onto the mattress. “It’s  _ not  _ morning yet. You need somethin’ or can I go back to sleep?”

Surprisingly, Nick laid down beside him, nearly close enough for their arms to touch. 

“You goin’ to sleep too?” He mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

A soft disagreeable noise.

“Can I ask you a question you aren’t going to like?”

Another of those sounds.

Dean kept on, figuring that if Nick really didn’t want to talk he would have said so. “Gabe seemed pretty worried about what you were going to do with him now that he’s come home.”

“Not really a question.”

Opening one eye, Dean glanced over to see that Nick was laying on his stomach, using his folded arms as a pillow. “I’m not sure how I feel about the guy or anything, and I’m sure that it doesn’t matter how I feel, ‘cause I didn’t marry him. But you’re not really going to jump on him like that Roman emperor did to his wife, right?”

Nick laughed beautifully, grinning wide. 

It was a good place for Dean to add anything else, but instead he lay there watching his friend. 

“No,” Nick finally said once he’d collected himself. “No I’m not going to jump on him. I’ll very actually kick his ass, with as short as he is it’s not all that hard to reach, but… but no. That’s probably as far as it’ll go.” He let out a suddenly hard breath and turned his face into the bend of his arms. 

“You sure?”

“Mostly sure. I’ve had a few days to come to terms.” Nick shifted, peering up at Dean and looking startled when he saw that he was being watched. “When I first saw the car in the garage, looking like it used to, all the tools out and the hood up... I didn’t see you. I saw Michael and,” his voice got surprisingly tight and he cleared his throat.

Dean didn’t let the man keep going though, rolling over onto his side and laying an arm heavily over Nick’s back. “Nope. Done with that conversation. Tell me how awesome the fixed shower is, and how long I have to wait until I’m invited to come try it out with you?”

The sudden jump in conversation seemed to throw Nick and it took a few seconds for him to say, “It’s about halfway to amazing, and that depends on when you’re going to come visit again?”

“So you’re saying no midnight shower sex?”

“Seeing as it’s past midnight? No. And also, what kind of guy do you think I am?”

“The kind of guy I want to fool around with in a shower?”

Nick hid a grin in the curve of his elbow.

“And the kind of one who,” Dean stifled a yawn, “who does well with planning things out.”

“What about anything that has happened between us felt like I was planning for it to happen?”

“Oh, baby, you had it all planned out from the first time you saw me,” Dean pressed a grinning kiss behind Nick’s ear.

“Did you actually just call me  _ baby _ ?” Nick whispered like it was a dirty word, like he was horrified to even have to say it out loud.

“Not your thing?” He leaned heavy into it, pleased to have found something to distract his friend. “Darlin’? Big boy? Pumpkin? Beautiful son of a bitch?”

With a sound halfway between irritation and eagerness, Nick pushed up onto his forearms and loomed over Dean. “Think I might be able to live with that last one.”

“Yeah?”

“Can,” and Nick looked away without hardly turning his head, getting quiet as he thought about what he wanted to say.

Dean lay there looking up at the other man, not at all bothered to wait, and wait, and wait. Though there came a time that he started to worry that Nick might have forgotten that he was down there. Carefully he reached up and tapped a finger to the tip of the other man’s nose.

Nick came back from whatever meandering path his thoughts had taken him and blinking slowly he focused back in on Dean. “Can I change what I said before?”

The mattress groaned under his shifting weight as he rolled onto his back, trying not to frown. “Guess that depends on what you’re wanting to change, and what you want to change it to.”

“No. It’ll sound stupid,” Nick chuckled and dug teeth into his lower lip. “I don’t have much, but I’ve got my pride.”

“Swear anything stupid stays between you an’ me,” Dean promised, drawing an X over the center of his chest.

With a grumble, Nick shook his head. “Just yes or no. Can I change what I said before?”

Every word of it felt like a trick question, but the curling smile on the corners of Nick’s mouth made it too tempting to argue with. 

People didn’t smile like that about bad things, and that’s what Dean told himself before saying, “You wanna’ change your mind then go for it.”

What Dean had thought of as a friendly confirmation was apparently an open invitation, Nick curling over him and finding his mouth. They were slow kisses, the sort that were easy to relax into like coming home. It was over too soon, the other man sitting up and hanging his head.

Swallowing down any sounds of protest that threatened to creep up, Dean ran his hands over his face and tried to figure out why this was happening. It was more complicated than Nick being a tease, but at the same time, Dean was still half asleep and logicing his way through this emotional wasteland wasn’t something he was currently equipped to do.

“Run away from home with me?” He offered impulsively, his mouth running and his thoughts struggling to catch up. 

Nick looked over, startled.

“Come on, man. I know Kansas sounds boring as hell, and it really is, but you could get some sun, we could fool around in the backseat of the car, stay the night in a shitty motel instead of making it one long drive from here to home.”

“You do know I’m going to have to say no to that for a lot of reasons, right?”

“I know,” Dean sat up too, rubbing sleep from his eyes, “but even if your reasons weren’t there the offer still would be. It’s not as creepy as you threatening to drag me up to your attic and keep me, but the feeling’s the same.”

“You want to keep me, Winchester?” Nick laughed uneasily, shaking his head and quieting himself like he was afraid to be overheard. “You’ve got some real awful taste.”

“Same goes for you,” Dean grinned. “But come on, don’t be so fuckin’ difficult all the time. I’m not over here saying I wanna get married, or matching tattoos. I’m just saying I’m going to miss you.”

Nick rested his chin against his knees, making no eye contact and mumbling something impossible to hear.

Still smiling, Dean made it worse for himself, by adding, “I think even if I’d never met you I’d still miss you.”

Very suddenly, Nick’s eyes snapped to him, a look of open concern on his face.

Dean tried to smooth over the panicked fluttering in his chest when he realised it was too late to take those words back, “I mean, without you I’d be stuck downstairs having to deal with those two weirdos making cute faces at each other and blushin’ and man-giggling, and I’d probably have to kill one of them to make it stop. You’re keeping me out of jail, Nick. Thank you.”

Complicated emotions passed over the other man’s face before he finally turned away and started to get off the bed. “I… I should get back to work.”

Dean caught his arm and weighed him down like an anchor. “Nope.”

“Nope?” Nick looked back, raising an eyebrow in challenge.   

“You woke me up,” Dean started to tug, “you can stay here with me until I get back to sleep, you jerk.”

“Work,” came the single word argument, a very weak argument as Nick put one knee back on the bed. 

“I’m leaving in the morning for a long goddamn drive across a bunch of flat, boring states. Least you could do is keep me company for the last little bit that I’m here.”

Reluctantly, Nick lowered himself to the edge of the bed, sitting with his back to Dean. “Yeah. Ok. Just until you go back to sleep.”

Dean still had the man’s arm, holding it at an odd angle around Nick’s back. It was the least welcoming way that they’d ever shared a space, and that included all the times they’d sat on the stairs together. It wasn’t how he wanted to spend his last night here, besides, if Nick really  _ needed  _  to work right then he wouldn’t have come to the bed in the first place. 

Pushing off whatever covers he’d tangled his legs in, Dean scooted over, kneeling behind Nick and putting his arms around the man’s shoulders.

“You are  _ not _ sleeping like this,” Nick grumbled, trying to shrug him off.

“You’re right,” Dean whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, “I’m not sleeping.” It took roughly half a dozen kisses to the other man’s unprotected neck for him to finally relax, head falling forward and his hands lightly holding Dean’s arms.

Up until now, Nick had always taken point on their extracurricular activities, and seeing as he was the only one out of the two of them who’d ever been with a guy before Dean had been perfectly fine letting the other man lead. But he didn’t have any questions about this part, didn’t need any directions. He kissed over Nick’s neck and shoulders, behind his ears; he took one of the man’s hands and kissed his fingertips, and palms, and wrist before guiding the hand up into his hair so that Nick could hold him right back.

“You’re going to ruin me,” was the very empty protest.

“Good,” Dean rumbled, trailing the word with teeth against skin and feeling the other man shiver, “then I get to keep you all for myself.”

“You’re leaving.”

“And I’ll come back,” Dean promised.

“It’d be easier if you didn’t.”

“Fuck easy,” Dean squeezed Nick as tight as he could for a breath, trying to make a point. “Already talked to Sam about it. Coming out for Thanksgiving and you’ll have to deal with it.”

“Sometimes I think I hate you.”

“Only sometimes?” Chuckling softly, Dean nuzzled into Nick’s neck, kissing and biting until he felt the other man’s breath catch, letting up to whisper, “Then I’m obviously not trying hard enough.”

Laughing weakly, Nick shook his head before taking one of Dean’s hands and holding it over his mouth, gentle kisses and rough stubble making a strange combination against the soft skin. 

“I’ll do better next time,” was all Dean could think to offer, his head filled with many warm and tempting but unhelpful thoughts. He really did want to come back though, in ways that had little to nothing to do with his younger brother. Not that Sammy wasn’t amazing, best little brother Dean could have ever asked for―but he didn’t fill Dean’s chest with frantic butterflies.

He knew a strange part of Nick probably wished that Dean had never come here, and Dean almost wished the same thing, because he was a different person now than he’d been a month ago. Stupid as it was, over these past few weeks Dean had grown a crush on this man here, and it made him want to promise all sorts of awful things he’d never promised anyone else. 

But he wouldn’t take back this last month. 

Not for anything.

“I’ll be so much worse next time I visit,” he promised against Nick’s ear. “I might even bring you flowers, or make you a candle lit dinner.”

The noise out of Nick’s mouth was one of endless suffering, his fingers curling tight against Dean’s scalp. “And what if I want to forget about you and stay in the attic alone, rattling my chains?”

“If you―” he turned his head side to side, feeling the way Nick pulled at his hair, “If you forget about me by the time I get back then I will sit on your stairs and annoy the hell out of you until you remember.” It was a terrible thing to say, Dean could feel those awful butterflies clamoring against their cage inside of him, and ignoring that chaotic fluttering as best he could, Dean left a trail of rough kisses from the man’s shoulder to his ear. “I promise.”

“Don’t,” Nick hissed, bowing his head to one side to offer all of his neck. “Don’t promise me anything. Don’t you dare.” He kissed Dean’s fingers, slow like he was memorising the taste of him, the feel of each old scar and callous against his lips.

“Wasn’t promising you no nothin’,” Dean swore, drawing an X over Nick’s heart. “I was promising myself, you stubborn jerk.”

“You calling  _ me _ stubborn?” Nick laughed, soft and beautiful. “I like that.” 

“Maybe we can both be a  _ little  _ stubborn sometimes,” he agreed, nuzzling and looking for any scrap of skin on this man’s neck that he hadn’t already kissed. It required a lot of slow searching, and doubling up on some of the little places that made Nick squirm. An obvious good use of time. A task where the work was the reward.

Honestly, Dean would have been fine with only this tonight. With only holding his friend tightly and listening to the man whispering increasingly more and more disjointed words of encouragement while Dean did his damndest to make sure that Nick wouldn’t be able to easily forget about him and return to his life as an attic ghost.

But Nick was guiding Dean’s hands down lower, under layers of clothing to more interesting places, and Dean wasn’t the sort of guy to say no to an offer like that.

\-------

It was still confusing to wake up in the dark with no idea what time of day or night it could be. 

Just as it was still comfortable to wake up with someone sleeping soundly against him. Nick’s head partially tucked under Dean’s chin, his arm a gentle weight against Dean’s chest. 

Scary as it was, a thought started to creep in.

He wanted to stay.

Simple as that.

Which meant it was long past time to go home. 

He needed thinking space, and in a small apartment like this that was one thing he simply didn’t have. A few hundred miles should help him sort things out. A few states between him and Nick so he could figure out which of these feelings were impulse and which ones were going to stick around.

“Hey, Nick,” he whispered, kissing the man’s forehead. “Hey, I’ve… it’s time for me to go, I really can’t wait until afternoon when you normally wake up.”

Nick grunted softly.

“You got my number though. Call me when you do wake up, keep me company on the drive, ok?”

The man stirred, shifting and tilting his head to kiss the underside of Dean’s chin. “Ok.”

“You awake enough to actually hear me?”

“Nope. Definitely sleeping.”

“Good,” Dean carefully untangled himself. “I wouldn’t want to wake you.”

“Kiss me goodbye, you bastard,” Nick demanded before Dean could slide off the bed.

Chuckling, he turned back, “Alright, but I’ve got morning breath and I don’t want to hear any complaints.” A soft kiss. A proper goodbye with far too many unsaid things behind it, and feeling crippled, Dean pulled away. “Call me when you wake up.”

“Drive safe,” Nick murmured before rolling over and pulling the blankets up.

Before he could beat a hasty retreat there was breakfast with Sam, and Sam doing not a whole lot of talking, but casting an awful lot of side eye up towards the top of the stairs.

“Get it over with,” Dean egged him, taking a sip of his coffee before adding more milk.

“What?” Sam had never been all that good at looking innocent.

“Yeah. I slept upstairs.”

With a trouble-making glint in his eyes, Sam took a bite of his omelet and asked “So are you and Nick… dating now or is it more of a casual thing?”

It was actually a fair question, one that Dean had no answer for, so he laughed and made a face. “Course we’re not dating. What would he want with a son of a bitch bastard like me?”

“You told me yesterday that you liked him.”

Dean pressed his hands to his cheeks and feigned embarrassment. “Oh gee golly, Sammy. Don’t say it so loud. What if he hears? What if he tells the whole class? Then no one will sit with me at lunch and the next thing you know I’ll get picked last at dodgeball and―”

“All right. All right,” Sam laughed. “Damn it, Dean. You know what I mean.”

“And you heard what I said.” It was all meant to be joking, just to annoy his brother instead of giving a straight answer of any kind.  “Guy shouldn’t get stuck with someone like me. He could do better.”

“Dean, he hasn’t left his house in five years. As far as I know the only people he’s seen face to face are you, his brother, and his friend Meg. Don’t know the guy yet, but I don’t think he’s interested in doing better. I think he might like son of a bitch bastards like you.”

“God forbid.”

“Gabe was asking me about you last night.”

“Yeah? Before or after you two had ‘welcome home’ sex?”

“Is that important?” Color was creeping over Sam’s cheeks and it was obvious that he was just as uncomfortable with his brother knowing about all this as Dean was. “It was after. Ok?”

“Yeah. Ok. Keep goin’.”

Sam grunted and scratched his neck. “I’ve told him about you, all kinds of stuff over the years. We like telling each other stories about our brothers. But last night he wanted to know what sort of witchcraft you had to not only get Nick talking, but to let you upstairs, and to actually come down here. He seems to think… you know, it doesn’t matter what he thinks. What do you think, Dean?”

“I think I’m still coming back during Thanksgiving?”

“I’ve lived here two years and you’ve never come to visit other than when I begged you to come house sit.”

“You told me not to,” Dean wasn’t going on a guilt trip this morning. “You always said this place is too small, too far for me to drive, and you wanted to come back home and sleep in your old room, see Mom and Dad, and all that. And we both know that was shit, you were just hiding your little boyfriend.”

A flush came over Sam again, but it was a different sort of embarrassment this time. “Yeah well. I know how Mom and Dad would react, and I just assumed you’d―”

“Yeah. You did. Be we already did this talk. So let’s just not. Ok?”

“Ok,” Sam ate a little more before saying with a small smile, “I’m glad we get to take turns visiting each other now. It’ll save me money on plane tickets… and you get to start being the one with a secret boyfriend.”

“Cause yours is... gone... now?”

Sam’s grin went well with the wink he gave. “Cause mine is a husband now.”

“God, you’re gay. How the fuck did I never notice?”

“Heteronormativity is one hell of a blinder,” Sam lightly clinked their coffee cups together, being a good brother for once and not pointing out how Dean hadn’t argued against having a secret boyfriend.

And it’s not like Dean knew what to call Nick anyways. 

Boyfriend definitely wasn’t it, but the way that it was so painfully obvious that neither one of them wanted him to leave sort of proved without a doubt that it wasn’t casual either. 

What it was and what it would be, was a mess to sort out another time.

After a firm hug and a bit of joking around, Dean got himself on the road.

It was a long drive, with nothing to look at other than the traffic and a lot of flat countryside, all yellowed and withered in the summer heat. He would have loved to say that he jammed out to old cassettes and only occasionally talked to himself to keep sane, and at no point did he look at his phone on long straightaways to see if he’d missed a call. 

He stretched his legs at a couple rest stops―and didn’t make any calls.

He stopped for dinner at a fast food joint and sat on the trunk of the car while he ate―and didn’t make any calls.

He pulled into a Best Western around eleven at night and fell asleep watching HBO―and didn’t make any calls.

By morning he had enough of whatever he was feeling after looking at his distinct lack of missed phone calls, and after getting some Mcdonalds and back on the road, he called Nick.

It rang through to voicemail, and Dean forced a smile after the beep, “Heya, Nick. I’m out in either Texas or New Mexico… not sure if I crossed the border yet, might have missed the sign. You were probably up all night working on all the stuff you didn’t do last night because we were… yeah, um, miss your stupid handsome face. Call me back when you’ve got some time. This long ass drive is driving me nuts.” Then Dean quickly hung up and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, feeling really stupid. A feeling that carried him over two state lines and made his stomach sour with anxiety. 

He shouldn’t have called. 

It was too needy.

And it only made that awful feeling that much worse when he finally made it back to his house that night, still without any incoming phone calls. 

The Impala didn’t have an air conditioner, which meant before unpacking or anything else, Dean took a shower and changed into clothes that didn’t smell like they’d been marinated in sweat. Then he yelled at his stupid phone for a while, calmed down, tossed a load of clothes into the laundry, cleaned the manky food from his fridge, talked himself into and out of calling Nick again, paced for a bit, laid down in his dusty smelling bed, and promptly didn’t fall asleep.

Roughly an hour was spent composing an eight word text, and another half hour arguing with himself before finally hitting send.

**we can talk like this if its easier**

If it was sent to anyone else it might have read as halfway to a bad conversation, sounding like a last ditch effort and all kinds of awful. But this was going to Nick, so it was actually an offer in a stubbornly gentle way that hopefully he would understand.

Mercifully, Dean was able to fall asleep after that, the exhaustion of the long trip finally catching up with him. Apparently he’d really needed it, because regardless of his phone laying on the bed beside his pillow and the text notification going off, he slept on into late morning. 

There was something both comforting and melancholy about waking up in his own room after so long away. It took longer than it should have to get his body moving, patting around the blankets to find his phone. 

Texts from Nick.

He had not one, but  _ two  _ unread texts.

No one was there to judge Dean for how hard he grinned at his phone. 

**easier**

**Did you make it home?**

And he’d never really texted with the guy, so it was hard to say if the small collection of words was ‘normal’ or not. Though knowing Nick’s aversion to talking, Dean decided he didn’t want to read too far into the brevity of it.

Trying to wipe away his grin and finding it impossible, Dean took a picture of himself in bed, hair a mess from sleeping with it wet, eyes squinting into the morning light. Deeming the picture flattering enough to send, he did, silently hoping that he’d get a picture of Nick in return.

**Home safe sort of hate waking up alone**

Too late, Dean realised that he could have easily not added on the second part of that thought and it still would have been fine. 

Oh well. 

He’d never had all that much charm or self control where Nick was concerned, so he doubted that the man would even notice the embarrassing bit of neediness. Besides, it could easily be taken as a random thought how beds were meant to be shared and not how Dean wished he was sharing with one specific person. 

With a suffering kind of feeling sharp enough that Dean was forced to laughed it off, or pull the blankets back over himself, he rolled out of bed and tried to get back to the real world. The normal life he’d been vacationing from for way too long. Where he had to go back to his day job, and restock the fridge, wash his car, have drinks with his friends, and dinner with his parents to get them caught up on a very carefully selective version of the past month. 

It was a harder adjustment than he’d have liked to admit, going back to how things were, with no stairs to sit on, and no reclusive attic ghost to share meals with. Dean did his best to not be the thirsty guy sending fifty texts a day. Putting a self imposed limit on no more than one text a day (with the promise to himself that he could send more if Nick ever answered back). It was all just small things, nothing that  _ needed _ a reply. Things like pictures of his horrifyingly overgrown lawn, or how happy he was to stop at his favorite doughnut place before work, how there were four lightning storms in two days, or tornado warning the next town over but he was fine out here. 

Odly, what finally prompted a reply text was Dean sending a picture of his black thumbnail where he’d pinched it in one of the machines at work. It’d hurt like hell and he was going to have to wait until he got home to take one of the screws out of his dremel set and manually drill a little hole in the nail to let the blood out.

Less than a minute after he’d sent the text about his planned homebrew medical procedure, his phone went off.

**Don’t you dare**

**You fuckin idiot**

**You will get tetanus and die**

Laughing, and texting with his one good thumb, Dean tried to explain that he wasn’t going to use the dremel, he’d be making the hole by hand, and that it helped relieve the pressure of the blood blister, and he’d done it many times before. Also, he was up to date on his tetanus shots.

Nick only argued in short insults, and then just as suddenly as he’d started, went back to radio silence. 

Like a masochistic fool, Dean read and re-read those very few texts, loving even that small bit of communication―right up until his mom called him.

Stepping out back behind the garage and the sounds of the other guys working on cars and yelling and joking, Dean answered the call with a confused, “Yeah?”

“Don’t you go drilling a hole in your finger, Dean Winchester,” Mom’s tone was very serious and left no room at all for arguing.

It left Dean staring in shock at his phone, wondering over the witchcraft at work here.

“Your brother just called me and told me what you’re planning,” Marry went on, “do you have any idea how dangerous that is? Me or John can take you to the emergency room if you need to―”

“Mom. No,” a horrified laugh threatened to choke him. “I-I promise not to drill a hole in my nail. Ok?”

“Boy, you better not. Who told you that was a good idea in the first place?”

“Dad?”

Mom made sounds of frustration, before making Dean promise again not to do anything stupid, and then got off the phone to most likely go lecture her husband on the fact that he was not a doctor and should not be telling their sons to use power tools to perform their own medical procedures. 

Smiling and still laughing, he sent another text to his friend, not expecting a response.

**Dude you ratted me out to my mom? Who even does that?**

And he had to go back inside, there were still cars to fix regardless of him being a dumbass and hurting himself. 

Some of the guys wanted to get drinks after work, it seemed that everyone had had a rough day one way or another. It wasn’t until they were out at the bar and Dean was getting out cash to pay for his beer that he checked his phone.

Nick’s texts were short, like always.

**Someone who doesn’t want you dying**

**Sam is the one who told your mom**

**File complaints with him**

While trying to think of a good way to respond to the fact that Nick had somehow managed to overcome his aversion to humans enough to voice some concerns to Sam, someone was sliding up to the bar and into his personal space. 

She was a cute little brunet, with big doe like eyes and a pretty smile as she said, “Hi,” just loud enough to be heard over the general noise of the rest of the room. 

Dean nodded, offering a small smile back before returning to his phone to continue crafting a perfectly perfect reply to Nick.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” the girl continued, leaning against the counter, close enough that Dean could smell her perfume. 

He looked back up, smiling because he didn’t know how not to smile at pretty girls. “I’m from around here. Just been away visiting family.”

She seemed to take that as an invitation to flirt.

And not really meaning to, Dean caught himself starting to flirt back, wholly unconscious like a muscle memory. It took until she started lightly touching the knuckles and asking how he hurt his thumb, that Dean pulled back, sort of horrified at what was happening. 

“Hey― sorry,” he apologised with a gentle smile. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh!” She pulled her hands off the bar, an embarrassed smile dimpling her cheeks. “Sorry. I, um, I see my friends over there… bye.” It was a less than graceful retreat but it left Dean standing there stunned. 

He was  _ seeing someone _ ? 

Who the hell was he seeing?

Obviously some weirdo recluse five states away that didn’t even text him back unless he was about to hurt himself.

Taking a long drink of his beer and going to sit beside the guys from work. He tried to joke around and pretend that he wasn’t having some deep searching inner thoughts about a guy that he hardly knew. Or knew more than well enough. It was really hard to figure out which it was.

He deleted what he’d been putting together to send to Nick and started over from scratch.

Two beers later, and one shot of whisky, Dean finally felt confident enough to hit send.

It was a good text. 

Simple and direct, but not so direct as to give himself away.

**Things with you and Meg ok?**

A good text.

Even though it wasn’t about him being injured, Nick still texted back.

**Same as always**

And sure, it was an answer in the fundamental sense, but still managed to completely not clarify a single thing. At least not to Dean’s soggy brain.

Alcohol should not have been invited to his decision making, as he texted back without the usual proper hours worth of thought behind his words.

**She ok with you cheating on her?**

There should have been an un-send button on texts, because even if he couldn’t put together why that one needed to be reworked, Dean definitely knew there was a better way he could have asked. 

Nick was a little too quick to answer.

**She’s still just my friend**

**Also fuck you?**

Dean rubbed at his eyes, a touch bleary, and ready to head home. 

He was too damn tired to understand the random question mark or to figure out if it even needed to be understood.

With whatever remaining wisdom he had left, he didn’t text back right away, getting back home and getting some night time coffee in himself to help clear things up. Tomorrow was his day off, he didn’t need to worry about getting any good sleep tonight. 

The worst part of it all, Dean had to admit, was having his best friend so very far away. Sam would have been a good wingman. Sam would have been able to help him figure out the best things to say.

He’d managed to get this far on his own though. 

**I’m going to call you. Don’t answer. I’m leaving a message. I just do better talking than with texting**

Then Dean sat there with his phone and his coffee and got his thoughts as in order as they’d ever be. He wanted time for the other man to definitely get his text and definitely not answer the call he was about to make. 

Dean had only known Nick for a month, not long in the scheme of things, but definitely long enough that he should have known better. Should have known that the other man would only ever deliberately do things he’d been told not to, because he seemed to thrive on being difficult. 

Three rings in, the phone picked up, a soft throat clearing came over the line and then Nick’s voice started low and odd sounding, “I’m not answering my phone, I never answer my phone… leave your message at the beep,” followed by him softly saying, “beep,” in a fairly unconvincing way. 

Looking long and hard at his phone, Dean let his shoulders slump. Ok. If it was going to be like that, he could play along. “Hey, Nick. It’s me. Super surprising, right? I, uh, yeah. What’s it been, couple weeks, almost a month? Didn’t know I’d miss you like this. It kind of sucks. I was thinkin’ about you tonight. Hoping that I didn’t wreck things between you and your best friend with everything I did. I know she means a lot to you. She’s… she’s pretty awesome.” Dean rubbed at his face, thinking maybe it would have been better if he’d worked his way through a text because he wouldn’t be talking himself in an odd circle. 

The other line stayed silent as long as he did. 

Naturally, Nick wasn’t about to add anything. The jerk he was sitting out there pretending to be an answering machine. 

“So I, uh, tonight I turned down a girl while I was out with some guys from work. Told her I was seeing someone― for the first time in my life I turned down a girl and I don’t even know if I did it for a real reason or just… I don’t fuckin’ know. You might have liked her. I know you’ve got a thing for cute brunettes, which is a compliment to myself, not a thing about Meg. I know she’s just your friend.” Dean smiled at how awful this was going so far. “I’m not going to ask if I’m ‘just your friend’ too. That would be awful and I’d have to throw my phone away and change my name and move out of state. I don’t know, man. I’ve been drinking.”

It stayed quiet on the other line.

“Not a lot of drinking. Just enough to ramble on like an ass for way too long, which apparently I’ve done with you before, so it’s not going to be a big surprise tonight. Oh, god. This would be the actual worst voicemail. I’m going to stop before I make this any worse. So… miss you. Miss your stupid face. Miss knowing if I was seeing someone or not. Text me yes or no? Or is that too weird?” He laughed before adding, “you can also text me yes or no if it’s too weird to ask the first question. But don’t tell me which one you’re answering. I like the mystery… good night I guess― unless you wanted to add anything?”

Nick stayed silent and Dean sighed. 

“Really, after all that bull shit out of me you didn’t think of anything you wanted to say?”

“Answering machines don’t talk,” Nick said hesitantly.

Dean had to cover his mouth, holding back a laugh before nodding, “You’re right. Sorry.  I’m going to go ahead and lay here in my bed for a few hours rethinking and regretting pretty much all of that. But, good night. Call me if you ever can’t sleep. I promise to let my answering machine get it. Ok?”

“Ok,” Nick agreed, before softly adding, “good night.”

Dean let his phone drop onto the bed, putting both hands over his face and letting out a long frustrated sound. He knew that Nick wouldn’t call him. Just like he knew that Nick wasn’t going to text ‘yes or no’. But the offers were there, and stubbornly the next afternoon he sent his daily text like nothing had happened the night before.

Nick could keep on being a ghost if he wanted.

But as long as Dean still missed him, he wouldn’t let the other man fade away just yet.

 


	12. it's what friends are for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3  
> over here enjoying the hottest flipping birthday I can remember, like for serious, my part of the state is having a heat wave and it's pretty much too hot to function, so hey, have a chapter that's been done and sitting on my computer for two weeks, because I feel bad that I haven't typed anything new.  
> hope you guys are staying cool wherever you are

Meg stretched out long, her toes splaying and not even coming close to poking the man half leaning out the window. 

“You know, we could put some clothes on and go sit out back…” she offered, scooting down the bed to jab Nick in the asscheek with her big toe.

He grunted, blowing smoke out in a long line that curled up towards the cloudy sky.

“Or we could sit at the front door and stick out legs out?”

“No thanks,” Nick mumbled, picking at his lower lip while the cigarette dangling between his second and third finger.

She hated that he still smoked. They’d both quit after high school, but he’d picked it back up after the accident. Same brand that Mike had smoked. Only one a week, same as Mike had after he’d also ‘quit’. But the best way to get Nick to do something you hated was to ask him to stop doing it. 

Letting out a tight, irritated sigh, she sat up and leaned against Nick’s back, resting her chin on his shoulder to look out at the dancing traffic lights. “I can stay until around eight tomorrow. I’ve got to go pick up the girls from their dad’s and head out to Malibu.”

“Thanksgiving with your parents?”

“I’m supposed to help Mom cook. It’s going to be awful.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m just hoping that Aunt Jeanie can stay sober until dessert, and that no one asks me why Tom is so happily married and I’m still divorced, because I swear to god, I’m not having another replay of two Thanksgivings ago. If my mom likes Kevin so much she can marry him, because I sure as hell am not taking him back.”

“Ok, but how awful would that be to have your ex be your stepdad?”

“That’d be so weird for the girls. Kevin being Dad and Grandpa?”

Nick chuckled, taking another long drag and offering the cigarette to her.

Meg shook her head. She always did. “Speaking of screwed up relationships―when is Dean getting here? Because if it’s tonight I can get a shower and take off, give you a chance to clean up and… what is that look?” She pushed off him, slapping his shoulder. “What is that look, Nick?”

He turned his face away, and it did absolutely nothing to protect himself. Nick had always been a person who broadcast his feelings with his whole body. “Dean isn’t coming.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s not coming,” the words so careful like he’d already come to terms with them days ago.

“You bitch,” she hit his shoulder again, “when were you going to tell me?”

The defensive curl of his spine was his whole answer.

Meg ran her hands through her hair, sitting back and trying to get a grasp on this. “You tell him not to come, you goddamned martyr?” 

“No.”

She didn’t believe him. Granted, Nick tended to be a fairly honest guy in his own screwed up way, but he was so good at lying to himself sometimes that dishonesty had a way of bleeding out and affecting other people in the worst sorts of ways. “And?”

“No ‘and’. He’s not coming. That’s it.” 

“ _ Nicholas _ , you tell me why the nice boy you’re in love with isn’t coming out here to fuck you stupid and make you all moony-eyed and happy?”

“He made up some excuse. It’s not important.” He put out the cigarette and folded his arms on the windowsill.

“Oh sure. He’s not coming out here to see his brother, and you, and that’s somehow not important. Can you remind me why we suddenly don’t care?”

“Didn’t say I didn’t care. Said it wasn’t important.”

If she hadn’t known this man for more than half her life she wouldn’t put up with his shit. “Nick. I will fight you.”

“He never planned on coming back here.”

There it was. 

There was that self-deprecating line that had somehow been missing for months. 

Nick always avoided talking about Dean and she’d assumed that it was for the normal reasons. The man had spent his life sharing everything with Mike. Everything. So anytime Nick had something special, from that bullfrog he’d caught at the pet cemetery down the street from their school, to the secret tattoo on the soft underside of his right foot. Nick always played it close to his chest, even with her, and she’d always given him what space she could because he needed those few little things to keep himself sane.

But this wasn’t a pet frog he kept in his dresser, and it wasn’t a tattoo of his favorite type of shark.

This was a whole human. One who’d charmed Nick out of his self imposed solitary confinement like it was nothing. One who had Nick grinning and laughing like he hadn’t done in years.

This was the sort of thing that she’d have to come at delicately, which wasn’t her strong suit. “Last time I talked with Gabe he was asking to borrow some chairs so that there’d be one for his brother-in-law. Pretty sure Dean’s been planning on coming out to visit.”

“He just  _ said  _ he was. People do that. It’s called lying.”

“And how do we know he was lying?”

“Because he’s a guy and guys lie.”

She flopped onto her back and held her arms out. “Come here.”

He glanced over a shoulder and his eyes smiled. Shaking his head, he laid down, putting his back to her and letting himself be spooned. 

“Not all guys lie,” she promised with a soft sigh.

“Most of us do.”

“But not all,” she repeated, smoothing a hand through his hair. “So what was this easy to see through excuse that the lying son of a bitch tried to use on you?”

“He went to visit his folks yesterday, picking up some stuff to bring out here for Sam, found his dad at the foot of the stairs. Apparently, he broke his leg and now Dean’s staying out there to help take care of his old man.”

If that was a lie, it was a hell of a big one, and very easy to verify. 

“Did you check with Sam? See how his dad’s doin’?”

“Can’t talk to Sam,” Nick said in a very strange way.

“Really? He’s downstairs somewhere,” she’d heard him banging on the ceiling earlier when her and Nick had been fooling around. The guy was probably still down there studying. “We can just yell at him through the floor and he’ll tell us if his brother’s full of shit.”

“I.Can’t.Talk.To.Sam.”

Oh no. “What did you do?”

Nick hunkered forward and made strange noises that were not an answer.

“I only come by one night a week, you clod. Everything was fine last time I was here. That’s a pretty small window to fuck up. So what did you do?”

More mumbles and grumbles.

“Because I can leave your cute little ass here and go down and ask him myself,” she warned.

It was an idle threat. She didn’t want to get dressed, and he knew it.

The stubborn jerk just pressed his back into her and kept his lips zipped.

She closed her eyes and counted slowly to ten before she had the kind of calmness she needed to say, “If I didn’t love you I’d smack you around right now. You know that?”

“Not afraid of you, woman.”

“Yeah you are. Since your brother moved downstairs it’s just me and the dogs coming up here to visit. You piss me off and it’s just the dogs. Makes you that much closer to being the male version of a crazy cat lady.” It was another idle threat, and he knew it too.

Which was good because as threats went, it was the first one she’d made in years that made her feel guilty. As much as Nick said he wanted to be alone, it was easily one of the only things he was afraid of.

“So Dean’s been stringing you along and apparently something happened between you and Sam that makes you more prickly than normal. You’re life’s turning into a regular soap opera.”

“Don’t say that,” he begged softly, reverting to his hedgehog state, protecting his vitals and putting up barbs. “I miss the quiet, and I hate that I ever let that thing down there rent half of my house.”

“I think I remember it being Gabe who handled the rental, so that problem sort of made itself. And when did Sam become ‘ _ that thing _ ’?”

“When he stole  _ my  _ brother, and then because he isn’t  _ his  _ brother.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, giving him a tight squeeze. “Not one but  _ two  _ shitty reasons? Nice. You’re really bringing your A game tonight.”

And he curled up tighter, making aborted sounds under his breath, telling her a whole story with irritated hitches in his breath. The man had spent years making his own language out of grunts and grumbles and sighs, and not even Meg could hope to translate.

“Corrine’s going through a breakup and has been blasting goth metal in the car. My hearing’s starting to go, so you wanna say that a little louder?”

“I kissed Sam.”

Of all the things that he could have said, she’d never have guessed those would be the words he’d put together.

“Excuse you?” Even those two words were hard to get out, and she pushed herself up to sitting, shoving at Nick’s shoulder. “Ex- _ fuckin’ _ -cuse you?  _ When _ ?”

“This morning.”

“Oh my god,” she balled up a fist and hit that same shoulder. None of the hits were even close to hard, but if they kept going he’d end up bruised in a few hours. “Oh.My.God.Nicholas. Details. I need details.”

“I heard the dogs whining downstairs. They didn’t come up when I called, so I went down. Figured no one was home. Sam was. That’s why they were whining. He wasn’t sharing his breakfast,” Nick rolled onto his back and looked up at her. “Never really talked to the guy one on one. He’s… he’s not terrible. We’d talked, and I might have flirted a little―” 

“I’ve known you almost twenty years. You’re physically incapable of flirting.” 

“I flirted  _ a little _ and he didn’t say no.” 

“He’s married to your brother.”

“Well it’s not like he kissed back,” Nick said like an excuse, “and he didn’t taste like Dean so it was a waste.”

Meg blinked slowly, trying to take in the full-scale lunacy going on.

“And that’s why I can’t ask him if his brother’s lying to me.”  

She really wished that this wasn’t the strangest conversation they’d ever had.

Still, it took her a moment to collect herself, but thankfully Nick was an expert at embracing the silence and it was never tense between them. 

Tucking hair behind her ears she sighed and asked the very obvious question. “You don’t think maybe you should have asked for some clarification on the Dean visiting situation before flirting with his brother?”

“He never planned to come back, Meg,” such hard certainty in his words. “He’s just been fucking around with me.”

Meg watched her friend. Watched the way he kept glancing at his phone on the corner of the bed. Usually, he had it plugged in out in the kitchen―or at least he had up until the handsome dog-sitter downstairs had gone home. Since then, for months now, Nick had kept the thing in arm’s reach. 

She’d been there for some texts over the last few months, watching the way that her idiot would grin at whatever message he’d received and then tuck it away, presumably to respond to it later.

There was no way that Nick had been feeling strung along for months.

Lunging forward, she grabbed the phone and rolled off the bed.

“H-hey. No. That’s not yours.”

She ignored his protests, scampering down the hall and into the bathroom where she locked the door behind her. The password on his phone hadn’t changed in years and it was almost too easy to pull up his text messages. 

There was a certain low expectation when dealing with Nick, but even still, her heart sank. There were so goddamn many texts from Dean. One a day. Sometimes two, going all the way back to that summer. 

She counted twelve whole messages from Nick. 

Twelve.

Someone sure as hell was stringing someone along, fucking with someone’s emotions.

But it wasn’t Dean.

The longer she looked through his phone the more depressing it got. Dean sent the most gentle, non-pushy texts. There were some god awful bad puns, updates on his day, photos of unimportant things like a potato at the grocery store that seemed to have a weird face or how his neighbors had started putting up their Christmas lights on the first of November, lots of nothing important with seemingly no demand or expectation of a response. 

If she’d been more interested in guys Meg would be half tempted to find Dean irresistibly charming and unintentionally sweet. 

Thankfully her tastes ran more towards screwing with men than  _ screwing _ men, and she saw only one option for her and this phone in her hands. 

“Meg,” Nick rattled the doorknob, “Meg, give it back.”

“Just a sec, I’m waiting for a reply.”

“ _ Reply _ ?!” And Nick almost never raised his voice, but there was some heightened emotion coming through that closed door. “You better be joking. Give me back my phone.”

She leaned against the door, looking at the screen. “It’s for your own good, you boob.”

“Don’t  _ help  _ me.”

“Not helping,” she sang softly. “I’m just answering this poor man’s texts since you forgot to.”

Meg had been afraid for her friend many times. Back when he’d been boxing regularly there had been this worried clutching feeling that never really left her chest, and after the accident she’d sat with this idiot in the hospital and cried because there had been nothing else that she’d been able to do to dislodge that smothering fear. But she’d never really been afraid  _ of  _ Nick. The way that the door creaked and buckled behind her though, reminded her that the man she thought of as a sleepy bear was actually slightly terrifying.

There came some sudden banging on the floor underneath her, and Sam’s muffled voice calling, “Everything ok up there?”

“Peachy,” she yelled back. “How’s your dad?”

A short pause and then a laugh before Sam answered, “He’s hanging in there. Full leg cast and he’s pissed, but he’ll be fine.”

Nodding to herself, and at Nick even though he couldn’t see it for the door between them, Meg was pleased to hear Dean’s story backed up. Honest, looking through all his earnest texts, she’d no doubt that he’d been telling the truth. 

The phone chimed and the door instantly stopped rattling at her back. 

Meg read and re-read the text, putting a hand over her mouth to hold back a smile.

**miss you to**

That was it. Dean was a man of simple words.

“What did he say?” Nick whispered against the door.

“He says ‘send nudes’,” she teased, relaxing when she heard Nick’s soft chuckle. Unlocking and opening the door, she handed the phone back to its rightful owner.

A mix of feelings went over her friend’s face as he stared down at his phone. A concerned frown that became a smile, a smile that softened into something more vulnerable, then another frown that didn’t reach his eyes. “You didn’t have to tell him I was sad he wasn’t coming.”

“I had to tell him  _ something _ ,” she pushed past him, heading back towards the bedroom, “and if I just came right out and said you love him it might be… moving a bit fast considering you haven’t said boo to him since August.”

Pulling on one of Nick’s shirts, she glanced back down the hall to see Nick still standing in the same spot making eyes at his phone.

“You’re helpless, you know that?” She sighed, coming back to her friend to take his arm and lead him to bed.

He let himself be manhandled, a distant and thoughtful look on his face as he lapsed into one of his silences he did so well―and Meg left him to it, pulling up a movie on his computer before throwing herself down to the bed beside him to wait.

It was nearly halfway into her rom-com before Nick finally found his words. “Do you think he actually misses me?”

Meg rolled her eyes. “No. I think he lost a bet.”

“I’m serious.”

“Seriously dense, maybe.”

For the first time since getting it back, Nick looked up from his phone. “What do I say to him?”

“I mean, technically you don’t have to  _ say _ anything. You can go right back to ghosting him for another half a year like the coward you are.”

He grabbed a pillow and brought it down firmly across her legs. “I’m not a coward.”

Taking the pillow away from him, she laid it over his lap then rested her head so she could look up at him, wiggling her fingers towards the phone, “Gimmie.”

“No. It’s private.” Nick held the phone against his chest like he could keep it safe somehow.

“Hand it over or I’ll make you text him yourself, you pussy.” Which was the first threat tonight that she’d actually back up if needed.

Maybe Nick understood that and feared what she might say to Dean, or maybe he was just feeling a little braver than normal tonight. Either way, he kept his phone, leaning back against the headboard and quietly typing.

As progress went, it’s wasn’t really a monumental step getting Nick up to where Meg had thought he’d been for the past few months anyways, but she loved being able to glance up at him every once in a while and catch the fool smiling at his phone. 

The jerk deserved to be happy, even if he liked to forget and needed an occasional reminder.

  
  
  
  
  



	13. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was getting writing done on some undisclosed stories, and suddenly realized that I'd never posted this chapter that I'd finished at least a week ago now DX  
> I swear my brain has been so mushy the past few weeks between conventions and summer camp and babysitting toddlers.  
> Ah well, at least here is a chapter with some light smooching and a little leg hugging to brighten up the beginning of summer.  
> Hope you all are well, and thank you so much for birthday wishes <3 it was a lovely day with good friends and bad movies and the existential dread as I creep ever closer to being official old (ignoring the fact that I'm older than most of my student's parents and that will never not horrify me. when did this happen? why do people I went to highschool with now have children getting ready to graduate highschool. what is happening?!)

It was too cold to get out of bed. Every morning was too cold to get out of bed. There had been snow on the ground since mid October, and the furnace in Dean’s apartment had been broken for most of that time. It needed to be replaced, but part of his lease was that he wouldn’t make any house repairs himself and the landlord kept saying he’d get it fixed. 

Tentatively, Dean stuck a foot out from under the blankets, and shivering pulled it right back in.

He could stay for a while. Glancing at the time on his phone it looked like he had upwards of half an hour left to lay in bed before he needed to be heading out the door.

There were no new texts.

Not surprising.

Not too upsetting either.

At this point it felt almost like praying. Every day Dean sent words out into the ether, and never heard anything back, with nothing but faith that someone out there was listening.

It half tempted Dean to injure himself again, if only because a busted thumb had so far proven the best way to get anything resembling a conversation out of Nick. 

Pulling blankets around his shoulders, Dean sat up and pointed his phone towards the window and the snowy world outside. He sent a picture to his absent friend, followed by a short text:

**Can't wait for snow tire season to stop. Going out to visit Sammy once work calms down**

“Hope you’re doin’ ok, you weirdo,” he whispered to his phone before falling back against his pillow and pressing the dark screen to his cheek and holding it there for a long breath. 

Five months back he’d almost known exactly how he felt about the other man, but at this point all there was left was a nostalgic ache. And how do you even miss something you’d never had?

Simple.

You lie to yourself.

You do it quietly.

You do it in little ways that you could pretend you weren't doing. 

He’d texted Nick for today, and then he’d had his long hollow sigh, and it was time to push it all from his mind and try to get back to his real life. A life that still had some good nights with good company, but never with anyone who would argue with him over pancakes or waffles in the morning. A life where he worked for a mechanic’s shop that was nothing but hellishly busy during this time of year. A life where he’d worked ten hours a day for the last fifteen days straight just so he could have a week off to see his family. 

It wasn’t a bad life.

He had to remind himself of that before braving the cold to roll out of bed and get dressed.

Parking at the airport was about as awful as every other Christmas that Sam came home. Which meant that Dean got to park out in the furthest parking lot imaginable and hike through the snow up to the terminal. Naturally Sam’s flight was delayed because of the storm, and Dean stood there looking numbly up at the departure and arrival board, shaking snow off his shoulders and rubbing the chill from the tip of his nose. 

At least it was warm in the baggage claim area and he found himself a seat between a sleeping old woman with knitting on her lap, and garbage can overflowing with Starbucks cups and water bottles. From time to time waves of people would flow down the escalator to swarm the baggage carousel thing, but none of the LED signs over the spill of suitcases said California or had Sam’s flight number. 

Dean hadn’t even realised that he’d fallen asleep until someone kicked his ankle. Grunting and unfolding his arms, a complaint ready on the tip of his tongue, he looked up and felt a grin split his face.

“Hey,” Sam said with a matching grin, “don’t you know you shouldn’t sleep in public?”

“Don’t you know you should tell someone when your flight’s going to be two hours late?” Dean got to his feet in one stiff movement, pulling his arms around his brother’s shoulders and doing his best to crush that laugher out of him. “And how dare you have a tan this time of year.”

Sam pulled away as much as he was allowed, to grin at Dean with all his dimples and charm and bright happiness to be back home.

Taking a quiet moment to grin back at his brother, they must have looked like idiots to anyone watching, and Dean didn’t care. “How was the flight?”

Sam shook his head and stepped out of the hug. “Worst one I’ve ever had actually?”

“Yeah?” Every flight, even ones that Dean wasn’t on were the worst flights, because flying was awful and he had no idea how his brother managed to do it a couple of times a year.

“Yeah, this guy sitting next to me was loving the turbulence about as much as you do. Was stressing me the hell out up until his brother gave him a valium.”

Dean chuckled.

“Then dude was high as a kite, and that might have actually been worse.”

“Not your new best friend?” Dean teased.

A tight laugh came out of Sam before he nodded and said, “Come on, wait with me.”

There was his usual battered carry on bag over his shoulder, and Sam had never come with more than that. The kid traveled light―but maybe he’d brought presents? Relaxed and happy, Dean followed, not too upset that he’d get to spend another twenty minutes or so indoors and out of the snow. 

They didn’t push their way to the front, there was no luggage on the belt yet to look for. Instead Sam lead them around towards the corner of the terminal where the people thinned out and it was easier to move. 

Easier to see individual people instead of a crowd. 

Hard not to notice Gabriel grinning at them, standing with his head leaned back against the chest of a much taller man, forcibly holding the man’s arms around him, tight enough that his knuckles were white. 

The unexpectedness of Sam’s husband there to greet them momentarily overwhelmed the recognition of the other man. But the fact that Nick was fully dressed and in broad daylight for the first time ever was practically as good as a disguise. 

“Oh, you son of a bitch,” Dean hissed once the recognition struck him. Impulse overtook reason and he rushed forward without thinking it through. 

There was no good way to get ahold of Nick without going through Gabriel, so unfortunately his brother-in-law got to be crushed into the middle of tight hug that Nick couldn’t return because his arms were trapped in between their bodies. 

Dean didn’t even care. His heart was pounding in his throat, his stomach tight, he was laughing with these uncontrolled little bursts as he struggled to find anything to say. Eventually he managed to force out, “Sunglasses and flip flops? You know how ridiculous you look right now, dude?”

Nick stood nearly nose to nose with Dean, blinking slowly behind his dark lenses, his smile downright nervous. “Do I strike you as the type of person who gives a fuck what I look like?”

Dean laughed again as the breathless, stunned feeling fully caught up with him. 

Nick had left his attic. 

Not just downstairs in his own home, but actually  _ outside _ . States away from home, visibly shaking, lips bloodless and pale, and better looking than every good memory of him.

A muffled voice from down near Dean’s chest laughed and offered, “Heya, not that I’m not  _ loving  _ this beautiful reunion, but suffocated in a man-sandwich is not actually on my list of ways I’d like to die.”

Only slightly embarrassed, Dean let the brothers go, only to feel a twitch of annoyance when Gabriel didn’t remove himself from the middle of this problem, and instead kept a firm hold on both on Nick’s arms.

“Do you need someone else to take a turn holding him so he doesn’t float away, or…” Dean wasn’t sure that was the best way to ask, but he hadn’t waited for half a year to not be able to hug his friend due to brotherly restraints. 

Gabriel laughed breathily. “It’s for his own good. He hugged the flight attendants and now he’s on time out.”

And as crazy as that sounded, Nick simply smiled another half smile and shrugged one shoulder.

“He’s my neighbor on the plane who got the valium,” Sam explained in a whisper.

“Oh,” Dean didn’t know what to do with that information. “Offer still stands? I’ll take a turn.”

“Be my guest,” Gabe handed over his brother like the man was a backpack to just easily pass around. Taking his brother by the arms and holding them both out to Dean until the exchange was complete. 

Nick fit a little differently on Dean than he had on his younger brother, letting both wrists be held, he simply stood at Dean’s side and rested a head heavy on one shoulder. 

Watching his friend from out the corner of his eye, Dean had to fight to keep from grinning. “So, they gave you the good pills?”

Humming in agreement, Nick nodded in a way that rapidly devolved into him lightly nuzzling his cheek against Dean’s coat.

“I don’t want to put a damper on all this,” the glint in Sam’s eyes said he loved standing witness to this semi private moment. “But this is Kansas, and unless it’s changed a lot since I was last here, two guys hugging it out in public is generally frowned on.”

“Says the guy with a fun sized husband,” Dean grumbled, in far too good of a mood to let Sammy bring him down―because Nick was heavy against his side, smelling faintly of aftershave and sweat, and most importantly, he was  _ here _ . It was a simple thing that had no right making Dean so happy, but it really did and he wasn’t about to give it up for all the homophobic assholes in the whole airport. 

Sam stoically held up his left hand, showing off the distinct lack of a ring and only the faintest pale stripe where it used to be.

“Divorced already?” Dean was a little impressed.

“No, just not ready to tell Mom and Dad.”

That sort of complicated things. “You just going to tell them that the cute little guy you brought home to meet them is…”

“My roommate,” Sam said in a very practiced way.

It wasn’t technically a lie. They lived in the same house. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Alright.  _ Roommates _ . I guess that’s one word for it.” Glancing over at Gabriel, he could see the man had removed his ring as well, and the look on his face gave no indication on how he felt about all of this. “How, um… how the hell did you get this thing out of his cave?” Dean asked, lightly shrugging his shoulder and jostling Nick’s head. 

“I wanted to come,” the man whispered.

“He wanted to come,” Gabe agreed, nodding. “He’s twice as big as me, not like I could just tell him no.”

Impressed was not a big enough word for it. Dean had to actually take a small step back from Nick and look at him. “You  _ wanted _ to come and so you up and left the house? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he still had that tight, crooked smile, swaying on his feet. 

Gabe rolled his eyes. “This last month has been actual hell at our house, don’t let him play it off as anything even slightly resembling easy.”

The slightly pained look passed over Sam that was all sorts of agreement. 

Dean couldn’t even begin to imagine. Just coming downstairs had brought Nick pretty damn close to a panic attack, stepping outside must have been the worst sort of adventure. Though from behind the tinted lenses of his glasses, Nick’s pupils were blown wide, and it was likely that the valium had a bit of a hand in the man being able to push past whatever he must be feeling.  

“You wanna keep being a koala on my arm here?” It hurt Dean only a little how easy it was to slip right back to where he used to be with this man, like it hadn’t been half a year since they’d touched. Lightly squeezing his hold on the man’s wrist, he added, “Cause it’s not bothering me, but I trust you not to bolt off into the crowd if I let go of ya.”

“I promise not to float away,” was Nick’s answer that didn’t even remotely resemble an answer, so Dean kept his hold on the man’s wrist while they waited for their luggage to arrive. 

More specifically, for Gabriel’s luggage. The man’s suitcase was nearly as big as he was, so it was no wonder it hadn’t fit as a carry on.

“You guys are still only planning to stay for a week, right?” Dean eyed the bag that the short guy was so cheerfully dragging along.

“Yeah, this is just all mine and Sam’s stuff together, and you know how your brother likes to have an outfit for every occasion, and then there’s all the stuff for his hair and his skincare routine…”

Dean looked at the bag over his brother’s shoulder with a questioning eyebrow.

“Gabe’s camera stuff,” Sam explained before trading bags with his struggling husband, finding a more even distribution of their things.

“We waiting for your stuff?” Dean lightly elbowed his friend.

Nick snorted softly, rolling his shoulders. “I’m wearing my stuff.”

“Ok, but you do know it’s snowing here, right? And you’re going to freeze your delicate Californian ass off once we get outside.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate your concern for the well being of my ass,” Nick tipped his head to one side, pausing as he seemed to lose track of his train of thought.

After a long enough wait that it became obvious that Nick wasn’t going to remember where he was going with that, Dean looked to his brother and shrugged.

“He’s been like that since we the plane took off,” Sam sighed. “His doctor was a little generous with the prescription.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean chuckled, because as fun as this was, “might be best if we let him sober up a little before heading to Mom and Dad’s.”

The group seemed in general agreement, or at least the majority vote was to hold off heading to the parent’s house (Nick had no strong feelings one way or the other and preferred to simply put his cheek back on Dean’s shoulder despite the fact that it complicated walking out to the car).

With the Winchesters sitting in the front, Dean got them back to his house, grateful for the storm that was keeping the roads pretty clear of holiday shoppers. Driving in the snow was enough of a pain on its own without the additional challenge of constantly glancing in his mirrors to catch a glimpse of the blonde spilled over the seat behind him. 

Not sure what else to do with him once they got home, Dean lead Nick to his room and laid him out on the bed.

“I’m not tired,” was the light protest as the man did nothing at all to fight against Dean.

“You don’t got to be tired to lay down. Just stay there until your head feels better.”

“My head is fine.”

“Alright. Then lay down until I’m less worried about you,” Dean tried to compromise, drawing the curtains closed.

“I didn’t come all the way here for you to babysit me.”

Dean grinned and had to turn away so he wouldn’t antagonise the man. “I know you didn’t. Just let me be happy to see you, you beautiful son of a bitch.”

A soft chuckle came from the bed, and when he glanced back Dean saw that the other man was hugging a pillow to his chest, sunglasses pushed up on his forehead. 

Nick wiggled his toes, curling onto his side before saying soft enough that their brothers in the other room wouldn’t be able to hear, “Your bed smells nice.”

“You really are high, aren’t you?”

“It’s called being relaxed.”

“Yeah. Alright, boss.” Dean tried not to let his mind wander too much at the sight of Nick in his bed, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t had dreams just like this. “You, uh, you want a blanket or anything?”

“I’m not going to sleep.”

“Dude, traveling is stressful even under the best conditions. Chill. Enjoy a blanket because it’s cold in here. I’m going to make some lunch.”

“What are you making?”

“Any thing you want,” Dean offered, and he hoped that the other man knew he wasn’t just referring to the meal. 

The house was small. Only one bedroom, which was snug even for Dean and an occasional guest and three grown men in the kitchen was sort of pushing the maximum occupancy. Doing his best to pretend he wasn’t loving it, Dean shouldered past Gabriel to get to the fridge.

“So,” he cleared his throat and noisily took out the makings of a good lunch, “not to make you two the middle men here, but how is he?”

“First off,” Gabriel hoisted himself up onto the counter top like he lived here, “if it’s between you and my Sam? I wouldn’t mind being the middleman―if you know what I’m sayin’.” He waggled his eyebrows and when neither Winchester smiled back, he sighed and kept going. “Nicky’s… he’s himself. So, basically he doesn’t tell me crap. I just sort of guessed that if he was talking to anyone about what’s going on in that fall out shelter of a head of his, it’d be you.”

“He doesn’t talk to me,” Dean said simply as he started tossing the ingredients for beef stew into a pot. “It’s hard enough getting words out of him in person, but over the phone? Forget it.” He’d come to terms with it long before he’d even left California, so it wasn’t a big deal, just part of the Nick package.

Gabriel seemed to be the opposite of his brother, almost eager to talk. “All I know is he’s  _ better _ , but even that’s a low bar to set all things considered. For the past while whenever I’ve come home from work he’s downstairs with the dogs, and some nights I hear him out in the backyard. He surprised the hell out of me when he told me he was coming too and I needed to buy an extra plane ticket.” Gabriel had started lightly kicking his heels against the cabinet as he spoke, “Oh, I do know that he’s pissed that you took Mike’s car back apart.”

“Yeah well, he was pissed that I’d fixed it―and it would only makes sense for him to be pissed that I un-fixed it too.”

Leaning his elbows on the counter, Sam watched the two of them talking before quietly interjecting, “I think he’s mad about it as an excuse for you to come back out and stay with us.”

With a quiet smile Dean chopped vegetables. “Yeah, well, when he tells me he wants me to fix it I’ll be there to fix it. And shut up, Sam.”

“I wasn’t―”

“I can hear you smiling.” Dean didn’t even need to look back at his brother. 

“It’s the dimples,” Gabe laughed, “you can hear ‘em coming a mile off.”

“A bit of advice,” Dean leaned towards his brother-in-law, “try not to laugh like that around our folks.”

“What’s wrong with the way I laugh?”

“It’s just a little too obvious how in love you are with Sammy. You’ll want to tone it down.”

Gabriel laughed again.

“Glad you think I’m joking.” He set his knife down on the counter before saying, “Dude, you keep kicking my cabinet I’m going to break your legs.”

The laughter cut short and Gabriel did a magnificent job of looking offended, but he also stopped banging his heels into the door. “Anyone ever tell you you can be a little intense?”

“No,” Dean went back to cooking, “never. I’m the nice brother.”

Which got Sam laughing, because he knew just how big of a lie that was.

Amidst general small talk, Dean got everything thrown into the pot on the stove and set to simmer. Gabriel was fantastic at telling stories that flustered Sam, which meant that Dean got to listen to the other men’s conversation, adding something now and then, content in the chatter. 

Glancing over at the couch he saw that in the time it had taken him to get the meal together, his brother and his husband had drifted together like magnets, practically sitting on top of each other and ignoring nearly half the couch. 

“Wow,” Dean cut into the oddly worrying story about a photoshoot in the Philippines that had been interrupted by monkeys. “You two need some alone time?”

“What? No,” Sam arched over the back of the couch to look at his big brother. “We’re fine.”

“You plan on letting him sit in your lap when we’re with Mom and Dad?”

Color crept up Sam’s throat and he gently pushed Gabriel’s legs off his lap. 

“I was just askin’,” Dean held his hands up, “I mean, that couch was practically made for fooling around on―and if you need to get it out of your system, now is a better time to do it then tonight when we’re at the parents’ and he’s just your  _ roommate _ . Y’all just didn’t look like you’d noticed you were doin’ it.”

Sam looked even more embarrassed. 

Gabriel laughed. “We’re still enjoying that honeymoon phase.”

“Does that normally go on for this long?”

The look on Gabriel’s face as he smiled over at Sam said that yes, a honeymoon phase could easily go on for twice this long.

“So, uh, it’s going to be at least an hour until food’s ready to eat,” it wasn’t that Dean necessarily wanted his couch tainted with whatever it was that these two might get up to if left alone, but… “I’m going to go check on Nick.”

Flicking hair from his face, Gabriel turned that nearly carnivorous smiled on Dean.“You going to bang my brother?”

Which meant it was Dean’s turn to feel a little warm under the collar. “I said  _ ‘check on’ _ him. That’s what I meant.”

“Well, you know, you wanna take about an hour to check on him, I haven’t been to the snow in forever and I was sort of hoping to go outside to build a snowman with your brother, which might be a little too gay to do at your parent’s house.”

Sam frowned. “Building a snowman isn’t―”

“It is how I do it,” Gabriel promised with a wink, sliding off the couch and tugging at Sam’s hands. “So come build a snowman with me, and let me throw snowballs at you, then make out with me in the snow.”

Months since their marriage and Sam had exactly the same goofy smile he’d come back from Mexico with. He let himself be dragged to his feet and towards the door, nodding and agreeing, “Yes, sir.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and set a timer on his phone for the food before heading back towards his room―and stopped short. In all today’s excitement he’d forgotten what time it must be out in California, and that his friend happened to be wholly nocturnal. 

Nick was sprawled face down in the darkened room, blankets pulled around him in a confusing tangle like an afterthought. 

With a quiet smile, Dean turned to leave and give the man some peace. This was a week long visit, and there would be plenty of time to harass his friend later. Besides, time to put his thoughts together and figure out what to do with this sudden and unexpected visitor.

“Get back here, coward,” Nick’s voice was sleep rough and amazing. 

Dean didn’t even try to put up a fight, sitting himself down in instant surrender. 

The bed was intentionally big enough for two people, but Nick didn’t seem to find a need to make room enough for them both, not scooting an inch, forcing the smallest bit of touching as Dean tried to casually settle in. 

Stretching his legs out along the mattress and trying to make it as least awkward as possible Dean raised one hand, very nearly setting it on the back of the other man’s head, but thought better and rested it along the headboard instead. 

Beneath those blankets, Nick was practically hidden, hardly more than a mess of blond hair, a shoulder, and beside that splayed fingers with ragged cuticles and bitten nails.

“You holding up ok, boss?” Dean asked eventually.

It would have been strange if Nick had answered immediately, that familiar quiet stretching long between them until, “I’d be doing better if someone would let me sleep.”

“Dude, you told me to come in here.”

“Why can’t you always be so good at following directions?”

Dean smiled, dropping his arm from the headboard to fold his hands over his stomach. “Never would have gotten you to open that door at the top of the stairs if I was good at following directions.”

“Oh and then I’d be back at home, sleeping in my own bed, with a good half a decade of not needing medication and no panic attacks―”

“And you wouldn’t have to wonder if you were dating someone or not,” Dean helped, “and you’re so welcome.”

“You’re such an ass,” Nick said like a complement.

“And you never gave me an answer.”

Nick hummed softly and turned his head enough to look up at Dean with one pale blue eye. His pupils were too small, medication worn off and a tense sort of nerves in that single glance. 

“Missed you,” Dean grunted, and he’d never been all that interested in sharing emotions, but for some odd reason he’d found it the easiest way to communicate with Nick. Just short and concise bursts of feelings that only made him feel slightly vulnerable. 

“No.”

“Actually, yeah, I kinda’ do.”

“No, I mean,” Nick made unhappy sounds before rolling onto his side and pressing his forehead unexpectedly against Dean’s thigh. “You do. I-I know you do.”

And if touching was fine then Dean would happily indulge, threading his fingers into the man’s hair.

“I meant no, I don’t wanna talk about it. Feelings are stupid.”

“Amen to that.”

Nick mashed his face against Dean’s leg, his hand coming up to rest along the inner curve of his knee. 

It wasn’t a light touch. 

It was very deliberate, very possessive.

And it did funny things to Dean’s insides.

He closed his eyes tightly and let his head fall back, trying to memorise exactly how this felt, because no matter when it ended it would end too soon.

“Pretend it’s the same day you left,” Nick’s mouth was warm and his words slow, “but you haven’t left me just yet.”

“You planning to fall asleep hugging my leg?”

“Fuck yes I am.”

“Alright… but I’ve got to get up and deal with lunch in about an hour.”

“Then shut up and let me hold on to you for about an hour.”

Right then Dean couldn’t tell who he hated more―Nick for making him feel this way, or himself for taking so long to realise he felt this way.

He kept quiet, though he had his doubts that his friend was actually getting all that much sleep if the occasional sigh of frustration was any indication. Carefully testing his theory, Dean stopped lightly twisting hair between his fingers in favor of lightly pinching the man’s earlobe. 

Nick grunted.

Dean lightly scratched at the stubble on the man’s cheek. He’d expected another irritated sound, and instead found his hand being bitten.

“Ok. Ow?” Dean laughed and pulled his fingers from Nick’s mouth.

One pale eye looked up, Nick’s eyebrow low. “You can’t just let me sleep, can you?”

“What sleep? You’re not sleeping. You’re just breathing on my pants.”

Nick kept on with his mostly hidden frown, and Dean hadn’t realised how much he’d missed just sitting with this man and waiting for him to say something.

But even Dean had a limit.

“You know,” he started after this quiet started to stretch longer than he’d expected, “months without you saying anything to me, I’d have thought you would have come up with something really good by now.”

“Sounds like you’re overestimating me a bit.”

“Oh come on, dude. If you’re not going to sleep you can at least say something.”

Grumbling, Nick hid his face for a moment before looking back up, half rolling onto his back. “And what do you want me to say?”

“Anything.” Dean grinned. “I just miss hearing that voice of yours.”

“Gee, you talk like that and you’ll make me blush.”

Folding his hands over his stomach to keep them from reaching out to pet his friend, Dean chuckled. “I mean, you don’t  _ have _ to say anything. We could fool around for a while instead.”

Nick tsked, shaking his head. 

“I’m just offering suggestions. You’re welcome to come up with a better idea,” Dean realised he was starting to reach out and firmly laced his fingers back together in strong self defiance. “I’m open to anything.”

With a grumble, Nick stretched out and hooked fingers through Dean’s belt loops, tugging gently as a smile curled one corner of his mouth. “Have you always been this annoying or am I just remembering wrong?”

Dean laughed, loving the teasing. 

“Come down here and let me put my face on yours.”

It was a beautiful offer, and he sank down to lay beside his friend and laugh even harder when Nick pressed his face into Dean’s cheek.

“Oh, so, you… you meant actually―”

“What is with you and needing to talk?” Nick mumbled against his cheek as he pulled an arm tightly across Dean’s chest. 

“I like talking,” he half lied. “I mean, it’s better than nothing?” Because nothing is what he’d been getting out of this man for months. 

“How about, I’m going to bet you twenty bucks you can’t shut up.”

“For how long?”

Nick’s breath was hot as he sighed heavily, before reaching up and putting a hand over Dean’s mouth.

And really, Dean was kind of ok with it.

Increasingly more ok as Nick started to kiss his cheek and jaw and ear. It felt like cheating, because how was Dean supposed to keep quiet when someone was lightly biting his neck? He was going to lose twenty bucks real fast.

At least he had a good friend with him who had started to keep a running tally of every time Dean uttered a half thought out word.

Dean managed to get himself eighty bucks in debt before rolling over and shutting himself up by kissing Nick soundly. 

They stayed like that until the alarm on Dean’s phone started to go off rather aggressively and he pulled away with an irritated grunt. It didn’t help at all that Nick was laying there looking up at him with a hungry expression that curled the corners of his lips. 

“I gotta go turn off the stove,” Dean said like an apology.

“I think that brings your total to about one-fourty.”

“You’re dreaming if you think you’re getting that money from me,” Dean pulled the blankets up over his friend’s head and went out to the kitchen, missing a step when he saw that Sam and Gabe were back on the couch. With only a small tug of embarrassment, he went and saw to the food.  

It looked like the happily married idiots were watching something on one of their phones, but Dean heard Gabriel quietly whispering and Sam hushing him. 

“You two build that snowman?”

“Snowwoman,” Sam corrected. 

Dean snorted and started getting out bowls, choosing not to even get into that conversation. “Come get food, weirdos,” and then shouting down the hall, “Hey, Nick. You going to come out for food?”

“I’ve been out for years,” the man yelled back.

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Dean couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for Nick. 

He couldn’t have gone and gotten himself feelings for a nice and gentle sort of guy? No. Naturally he had to find himself someone as much of a pain in the ass as himself. It would be a miracle if a relationship could sustain their combined level of jackassery.

Like a wild animal emerging from a long hibernation, Nick came to join them at the table. Dean couldn’t help but notice how the man tugged his chair closer until they were touching, pointedly sitting next to no one else other than Dean. 

“Way to play favorites there, Nicky,” Gabe teased his big brother.

Nick served himself food, mumbling in a distracted way as he did, “He kisses better than either of you, so not really much of a contest for favorite.”

It was a weird joke and Dean laughed, the sound cut short though when he noticed he was the only one. “Alright... don’t think I want to ask.”

Sam shook his head in agreement, and Dean decided it would be best to let it go, after all, they’d have an hour’s worth of a car ride to make all sorts of fun conversation amongst the four of them. 

Or the three of them.

Once the meal was finished and they set off for the parents house Nick took a small pill from a prescription bottle, curled up in the back seat of the Impala and went to sleep for the day. 

The drive to Lawrence wasn’t a bad one, Dean was even almost starting to like Gabriel and his elaborately weird stories. The man liked to talk, which gave ample time for Dean to pretend he was listening while he was actually peering into the rearview mirror every couple miles to make sure that Nick was resting alright with his crooked sunglasses and his cheek mashed against the side window. He really was an adorable mess of a man. 

Nick slept the whole drive, not even stirring when they pulled to a stop and the car rumbled as the engine was turned off. Sam and his husband started getting out of the car and Dean instantly called dibs on being the one to wake the ghost in the backseat before anyone else could.

Lightly knocking his knuckles against the window, he watched the other man frown and curl more in on himself. “Come on, princess,” Dean raised his voice just above a speaking volume, bouncing on his heels as the cold started to cut through his coat.

Nick did little more than stick his tongue out between his teeth and fold his arms more tightly around his chest.

“Freezing to death in the car won’t be as good as sleeping in my old bed.”

Behind those sunglasses, one eye opened. 

“Lots of warm blankets and the flattest pillow that ever existed. Come on. It’s awesome.”

The car door opened and Nick slowly unfolded himself, flip flops crunching on the salty driveway. “This state sucks.”

“It’s Kansas in winter. What were you expecting?”

“You’re the only thing I wanted out of here. Hate the snow. Always have.” Nick yawned unapologetically before following Sam and Gabe inside. 

Despite the insult to the awesome white winter, Dean grinned. 

Grinned like an idiot.

And let a frustrated sigh steal that bit of happiness as he realised that he wasn’t going to have the easy excuse of being this man’s roommate. Everything would be much harder to explain away. 

From his space beside the car he watched the front door open, Mary smiling as she threw her arms around Sam, and Nick instantly attempting to hide behind Gabriel―something that would have worked so much better if the man wasn’t so very tall. 

Dean was instantly on the defensive, grabbing his bag and jogging to catch up with everyone. He smoothed one hand over the small of Nick’s back in a brief and hopefully reassuring touch. 

“Hey, Mom,” he side stepped around the woman still fussing over her youngest son, pulling Nick safely inside. “I’m gonna go toss stuff in our room,” and without waiting for any acknowledgement, he stole Nick away. “You can deal with meeting the folks after you’ve slept a bit. You look exhausted.”

Nick didn’t say anything, and when Dean glanced back to make sure he was still being followed he nearly laughed at the grim look of determination on his friend. 

“Come on. No one here’s gonna bite you.”

A nervous sort of smile twitched at the edge of Nick’s mouth. “Well, that’s a little disappointing.”

Dean flashed some teeth and took his friend down to the basement. Sammy and him had shared one of the house’s two bedrooms until it had been obvious that two growing boys couldn’t peaceably cohabitate such a confined space. The summer that Dean turned fourteen he’d helped Dad convert the storage space in the basement into a proper and very large bedroom. After him and Sammy had moved away after high school it had been converted mostly back into a giant closet full of holiday decorations, old furniture, craft projects and only god knew what else. But off to one side still remained an old bunk bed. 

Tossing his bag onto a faded couch half covered in red and green tubs, he held his arms wide to Nick. “This is it.”

“This is… not what I was expecting.”

“Not used to being underground?”

“A little of that, yeah.” Nick half sat down, awkwardly perched on the arm of the couch and hugging his arms around himself. 

“Think you’ll be a little more comfortable on the top bunk?”

Nick snorted softly. “Be a little more comfortable in California.”

With a laugh he tried his best to hide, Dean circled back to his friend, bumping their knees together before leaning down to steal a slow kiss. Nick grunted in something like annoyance, but kissed back. Knowing he had to play it at least sort of safe, Dean pulled back enough to ask, “You want me to tell you a bedtime story and tuck you in?”

“Shut.Up.” Nick gave him a gentle shove and stood. “I can put myself to bed just fine without your help.”

“Yeah, well. You let me know if you change your mind,” Dean offered, watching the other man curl up on the bottom bunk. “I’ll be upstairs, just holler if you need me… or you could always text if that’s easier.”

Nick looked up from the pillow he’d made of his folded arms. “Well that sounded more spiteful than I’d expected.”

“Sorry?”

Putting his head back down and sighing softly, he said, “Don't apologise to me for me being an ass. It not how it works.”

It was a weird feeling for Dean to realise that he’d been hoping for an apology, this warm, stupid sort of happy spreading through him. “You need anything?”

“No.”

“You want me to come check on you in a few hours?”

“No,” Nick repeated, only to very quickly raise his head up, his eyebrows coming together. “Yes. I mean, I don’t need you to. I just… I know you will anyways, and it’s fine or whatever.”

It took everything Dean had to not crawl onto the narrow mattress beside Nick. 

“Alright,” he made himself say, rather forcibly taking himself back upstairs to go and socialise and pretend that that was exactly where he wanted to be.

  
  



	14. Family time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a doozy of a month, my friends.   
> Highlights being a camping trip in the woods, a hospital stay, and a foster kitten.  
> At least it hasn't been a boring summer so far??

“You know, Dean’s always had a hard time with flying too. It bothers a lot of people,” John shrugged while clumsily folding the wrapping paper flat against the end of the box. 

“It’s not really the airplanes that are the problem,” Gabriel smiled tightly. “For my brother, it’s being anywhere that isn’t home.”

“He just needs to get out more often.” And no one in the room was qualified to give medical advice, least of all the old man. 

“Not how it works, Dad.” Dean reached across the table to take the present from his dad and refold the paper into something that more closely resembled a proper Christmas present. Not that he usually cared about this type of thing, but he knew if he didn’t fix it then Mom would, and he was trying to save her the effort. “What Nick’s got… it’s like PTSD. You don’t just walk it off.”

“All I’m sayin’ is it’s a bit weird. Full grown man nervous about being leaving the house.”

Mary gently slapped her husband upside the head before smiling at Gabriel. “I’m sure your brother is a lovely young man and we’re happy to have you both here with us.”

Gabriel snorted a soft laugh, and Dean met his eyes for a moment of shared amusement, because Nick was many things, but very rarely ‘lovely’. 

“Well, we’re happy to be invited. It’s nice to have a white Christmas for a change,” their guest said without coming to the defense of his older brother. 

From what little experience he had with this man, it was curious for Dean to see Gabriel being so ‘normal’ for a change. The man was an actor playing a part. Nothing more than Sam’s polite and pleasant friend and giving no reason at all to suspect that he was an energetic little weirdo who was incredibly married to the Winchester’s youngest son. 

With a smile, Dean handed the wrapped gift off to his mom, who carefully put a little ‘to/from’ tag in place. Mary was a receptionist at a radiology clinic attached to the local hospital. With a holiday work party scheduled for tomorrow, it left little time to get all the gifts for her coworkers wrapped. Dean didn’t mind helping.

At least he didn't until Nick shambled up out of the basement like some B movie monster, flinching from the light and making low sounds in his throat.  

For whatever reason Dean instantly felt self-conscious about being elbow deep in Christmas bows. He summoned a smile and turned in his chair with a deliberately cheerful, "Mornin', sunshine." 

"Mornin'," Nick muttered groggily and leaned over Dean to kiss him hello―something he would have gotten away with it if Dean hadn't quickly slid out of his chair and caught the other man by the shoulders. 

"Hey," Dean laughed with only a slight twinge of nervousness, "you sleep ok?"

Blinking slowly, his pale eyes caught a little too long on Dean's mouth before Nick looked awake enough to respond. "Yeah, that flat pillow was exactly as amazing as promised."

"You feelin' better?"

By the uneasy shifting from foot to foot and the tightness in Nick's shoulders, the obvious answer was no. But the man grinned an unconvincing grin and nodded sharply.

Dean fought down the urge to tuck Nick away somewhere safe, and instead turned to his parents and smiled a hopefully more convincing grin. 

Quick introductions were made, and as Nick started to look like he might actually speak to the two strangers at the table, Gabriel spoke up.

"It only just got dark outside, isn't it too early for you to be awake, Nicky?"

“Aren’t  _ you  _ a little short to be sitting at the adult’s table?” Nick quipped back without hesitation, the smug expression he wore incredibly short-lived as he seemed to remember that Mary and John were within earshot of the teasing. 

“Hey, er,” Dean cleared his throat and ignored his dad’s soft chuckling. “We already had dinner, but I―we saved you some, if you’re hungry.”

His friend nodded, and then proceeded to not sit at the table and wait, but instead to follow on Dean’s heels around the kitchen while leftovers were microwaved. And Dean was almost tempted to ask and see if Nick would feel more comfortable eating on the stairs that lead to the basement (for old time’s sake), but thought better of it. Instead he set the plate on the table at an empty seat between his own chair and Gabriel’s. Nick might be ready to climb the walls with obvious discomfort, but he was an adult and he could decide when he was ready to go back down to the safety of the basement. 

Mom, always good at reading a room, pushed at John and said, “Come help me get this all cleaned up.”

“Don’t we still have a few more things to wrap?” 

“We can do it tomorrow, when the boys are all out,” Mary explained rather pointedly, leaving little doubt who the still unwrapped presents might be for.

John rolled his eyes at his sons, not bringing up the fact that their mom had a bit of a procrastination problem and every year, despite all good efforts, there were always extra presents being wrapped up the night before Christmas. This year wouldn’t be any different. The old man got to his feet, collecting up the rolls of wrapping paper and following his wife down the hall. 

Not looking up from his plate while he spoke, Nick asked rather pointedly, “Where are we going tomorrow?”

“To buy your sorry ass a coat, and maybe some close toed shoes, otherwise you’re going to freeze to death,” Dean explained, watching his friend’s jaw tighten.

“We’re going to a  _ store _ ?”

“Less people than an airport,” Dean promised.

Sam, being incredibly less than helpful said, “Actually, with Christmas in only a few days the mall is probably going to be packed.”

Dean grit his teeth, irritated by his brother’s fun facts, but before he could say as much, Nick cleared his throat.

“I’d rather stay here,” the man said hardly loud enough for Dean to hear.

“Nicky, you are an actual giant,” Gabriel pointed out in a way that seemed like he was trying to be soothing, “it’s not like we can buy you just anything and have it actually fit. There’s no clearly labeled ‘Nick sized shoes’ at the store we can pick up for you.”

If the man had been given enough time he might have responded, but his thought filled pause was cut short when Mom and Dad came back. 

“I’m going to get these dishes cleaned up, and then I think a bath and bed,” Mary announced, pushing up her sleeves and heading towards the sink.

“No. Mom,” Sam awkwardly chased after her with wide arms, “we got it. Promise. Go relax, take your bath.” 

With a surprised laugh, Mary let herself get shooed from her own kitchen. “Well, I’m not going to tell you you  _ can’t _ do the dishes while you’re here. Just remember that knives and wooden spoons don’t go in the washer.”

“I know,” Sam promised.

“Alright. Thank you.” She smiled and pulled him down, kissing his cheek. “It’s good to have you boys home.” She released Sam and skirted the table to press a kiss on top of Dean’s head, spreading around some of that warm motherly affection.

Goodnights were said and Mom went on her way with a lightness to her step. It made Dean happy to see. Not that Mary wasn’t constantly beaming at him anytime he drove out for a visit, but that motherly joy, or pride, or whatever it was always seemed amplified when Sam was here too.

Dean settled back into his chair, and wanted to continue the careful task of convincing Nick that the store would be perfectly safe and fine, only Dad was still there in the kitchen with them. The old man going to the fridge and digging around until he came out with a mason jar.

Dragging out Nick’s more prickly nature with Dad in the room to offer his personal critiques or less than helpful advice, felt less than productive.

“Now, don’t tell your mother,” John whispered, glancing off in the direction his wife had gone. “She got this eggnog recipe from one of those cooking shows she likes, and we’ve had these jars 'settling’  in the back of the fridge since May. We’re supposed to be saving them for Christmas eve, but…” he shrugged, getting out a collection of glasses, “she made five jars and I’m sure she won’t miss one.”

Even knowing that they’d be in big trouble if they got caught, Dean happily accepted the glass Dad passed him. 

The old man sighed contently as he took a long drink and sank down into his chair at the head of the table. “So, your brother said you work with computers?”

Nick didn’t drink the eggnog placed in front of him, instead choosing to trace trails through the condensation on the glass with a fingertip, seeming very lost in through. It took what felt like nearly a full minute before he slowly looked up from his dinner towards John with a confused expression. “Me?”

“Yeah, son,” John chuckled. “You work on computers?”

“Something like that,” Nick said above his normal whispered tone, like he was pretending to be someone else altogether. 

“Never had all that much luck with the damn things. Whenever something goes wrong with ours we usually just wait for Sam to come out for one of his visits.”

Dean dipped his head towards Nick, saying with a chuckle, “Or they have me come out and get on the phone with Sam and he walks me though it.”

Sam didn’t need to say out loud how absolutely terrible those phone calls were, his dramatic eye rolling summed it all up rather nicely. 

“Computers aren’t my thing,” Dean mumbled in his own defence as he took a small sip of the sweet and very strong drink, cuddling close to that heat that spilled down the inside of his throat and settled in his stomach. It was a good thing that there were four more jars in the fridge. He thought he’d be able to finish off one all on his own.  

“You prefer fixing bathtubs,” Nick whispered back, the two of them apparently pretending that the other men at the table couldn’t somehow hear them. 

“Or cars,” Dean said in his own defence, not about ready to let his skills be diminished to nothing but basic plumbing. “I can fix just about anything damn thing that needs fixing.”

It hadn’t even dawned on Dean that maybe he shouldn’t bring up cars to his friend―but about the time that he watched Nick very deliberately drain his glass, did Dean realise that perhaps it would have been a topic best left untouched.

“Slow down there, son” John chuckled. “We don’t have enough for seconds on the drinks. Not if we want to make sure Mary doesn’t notice we cracked one of them open early.”

Surprisingly, Nick smiled, and it looked honestly happy. And even if it the thought seemed to come out of nowhere at all, Nick almost gently said, “When Dean was out this summer he fixed up my older brother’s car―at least he started to,” the man tilted his head towards Dean and asked, “You  _ do _ still plan to come back out and finish the job. Right?”

Sitting beside this man, with his crooked, borderline hopeful smile, Dean would have agreed to pretty much any damn thing. “I-I mean, yeah. Course I’ll finish it up.”

Either Dad chose not to acknowledge the odd tension, or he was oblivious to it, because he grinned at Nick as asked, “What kinda’ car we talking about?”

Any normal night Dean would have been happy to join in the car talk with Dad and Nick, but he found himself all but lost as he watched his friend smiling beside him.

In the months since they’d last seen each other something had shifted in the other man, something less noticeable than the fact that he’d figure out how to leave his house. 

Nick was actually willing to talk about his brother’s car.

Even if it was only the make and model and most of the car’s illustrious history was flat out ignored, Nick was still talking and Dean could have sat there for hours listening. 

Hours weren’t offered, however. What Dean got was about five minutes, before Sam told him to get up and help with the dishes.

He wanted to complain and say no on principle, saying that he needed to stay sitting beside Nick, but the man seemed actually calm since the first time since stepping off the plane.

Dean joined his brother at the sink, loading the dishwasher while Sam rinsed everything clean. It was positively domestic, like one of those old timey family sorts of paintings that were always on holiday cards. Hopefully it wouldn’t last long because it felt unnatural as hell.

By the time they’d turned on the dishwasher, John was getting up from the table and setting his empty glass on the freshly cleaned counter. 

“Alright boys, I’m calling it a night.” With cheeks that were tinged the slightest hint of pink, John grinned at his sons before whispering, “If I hurry I might be able to get up there before your mom is out of the bath.”

Out of habit Dean cringed and wrinkled his nose. “Gross, Dad.”

The old man chuckled and nodded to the brothers still sitting at the table, saying, “Good to finally meet you boys,” before heading off with only the slightest hint of a limp to his step. 

“I like him,” Gabriel announced to the room in general.

“Yeah?” Sam asked rather hesitantly, probably because every single one of Sam and Dean’s bad habits and stubbornness came from their old man. Very few people liked John as a first impression.

“He’s kinda cute,” Gabe grinned, suddenly back to his normal self now that there was no parental supervision to be seen, “in a Tom Selleck sort of way.”

“Don’t even start,” Sam threatened with a choking laugh, glancing off in the direction of the stairs. “You and those cowboy movies.”

“You know I can’t resist all that salt and pepper stubble,” it was like Gabriel had been holding in hours worth of teasing and the coast was finally clear to let it out. “God, but you’re going to be so hot when you’re older, Sammy.” 

Dean had to side step his brother to get out of the way fast enough. Laughing as he watched Sam lightly strangle hug his husband around the neck. 

It was a gross display of affection, and the only thing better right then was the look of long suffering Nick had for the men only inches away from him. “Get a room.”

“Don’t tell them that,” Dean hissed, “the four of us are all sharing a room.”

“I’ve got headphones, I don’t care what they do,” Nick said easily, reaching over to take Dean’s half empty glass of eggnog from the table and finish it off for him. 

Frowning, Dean circled the table and collected up the rest of the evidence of their ill gotten drinks. “You alright?” He asked softly.

Nick shrugged, looking at his hands. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

He glanced up, and shrugged again. “Sure.”

It was a level of confidence that didn’t set easy with Dean, but he also didn’t think it was a good idea to press right then. 

Maybe he should have.

Hours later, Dean was stretched out on his bed childhood bed, Gabriel snoring softly from the top bunk, Sam sprawled out on the other side of the room on the air mattress that Dean usually used for camping trips with Dad. Nick had claimed the couch as his own, settling in with those headphones he’d bragged about and his laptop, mumbling about still getting work done even though he wasn't’ at home. 

It was strange to be sleeping in a room with so many other people. Lots of restless noises that Dean wasn’t used to and it made staying asleep something of a challenge. 

He rolled over, letting his eyes drift lazily open for no reason other than he wanted to watch his friend huddled around the glow of a laptop screen―but the couch was lacking in any long-legged blondes. The man must have gotten up to use the restroom or stretch his legs, or whatever the hell it was that Nick did at night when the rest of the world was sleeping. 

And though he should have gone back to sleep, after nearly ten minutes of blearily watching an empty couch, Dean got to his feet. Carefully, he navigated the dark basement, stepping around the air mattress, and making his way up the narrow stairs. 

Not wanting to wake his parents, Dean padded softly down the hall without turning on any of the lights. He’d spent nineteen years of his life here and didn’t need to be able to see to find his way around. However, knowing where the walls were and knowing where someone might be doubled over in the corner of the kitchen were two different things, and as Dean rounded the edge of the counter he nearly stepped on Nick. 

“Fuck me,” he hissed, gripping tight to the nearest cabinet to keep from falling onto of his friend. “The hell you doin’ on the floor?”

Worse than any answer Nick could have given, the man said nothing, unmoving with his forehead pressed against his knees.

Not bothering to consider any other options, Dean joined his friend on the cold tile, uncertain hands hovering over Nick’s shoulders.

In the midnight hush of the house, the only real sounds were the ticking of the kitchen clock and Nick’s sharp gasps, strangled breaths that came and went far too quickly. It was obvious that the man wasn’t alright―however, what wasn’t obvious was what he needed right then.

“Can-can I get you some water, or uh…” Dean floundered. He was a problem solver by nature. Fixing things was his happy place, but in light of all those internet articles he’d read over the summer, he’d simply hoped that they’d never find themselves here, because he’d known early on that he didn’t have the right sort of tools to fix this. 

It was impossible to tell if Nick even knew that Dean was there, and still grossly uncertain of his own actions, Dean let his hands settle over the other man’s shoulders.  

“Hey,” he whispered in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “Hey there, champ. You got to slow down or you’re gonna’ pass out.”

And as his advice went grossly unheeded, Dean pressed a kiss onto the crown of Nick’s head and tried to guide those unsteady, too fast breaths with loud and clear breaths of his own.

After what felt like half of an eternity, Nick managed a slow shudder of an exhale and he raised his head. “A-are you f-fucking Lamaze b-breathing at me?”

“I don’t think so?”

The noise that came from Nick resembled a laugh in the same way that a worm resembled a snake.

Dean laughed back in an equally unconvincing manner. 

Pressing visibly shaking hands over his face, Nick swallowed hard and whispered, “Bet you didn’t miss this part.”

“Nah, man. I fuckin’ love this part. So exciting." Dean took hold of his friend's wrists, silently worried about the pounding pulse he could feel beneath his fingers. "But, you know… middle of the night. I’m sure you’ve got work on your computer or whatever. You wanna head back down to the basement?"

Nick grumbled formless word into his hands.

“Nice little enclosed space, easy to see single exit,” Dean offered in the most enticing way that he knew how, resting his chin on top of his friend’s head and being as close as he could be without hugging because he had no idea if Nick wanted a hug or not.

“That’s the―” Nick suffered a long breath before finally raising his head, “the weirdest offer I’ve ever had.”

“Guess that means I need to start trying harder.” 

“Oh, god. I could be back in LA right now. In my own room. Warm. Not talking to a complete weirdo on the floor of a strange kitchen.”

“You like me. Don’t lie.”

A small hint of a smile danced over Nick’s face. “Didn’t say I don’t like you. Said you were a weirdo.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Nick shook his head before leaning forward and pressing his mouth over Dean’s in something too rough to be a proper kiss, their teeth knocking together with the sharp taste of blood. 

Laughing a touch too loud, Dean melted into the very welcome attack, getting lost with Nick in the distraction. The very startling distraction that he was in no way going to complain about, not even as the other man pulled him in flush against his body, Nick’s knees pressing in on either of Dean’s sides in a full-bodied hug.  

It all fell apart quicker than expected, rough kisses devolving into horny teenager levels of making out. Cold hands sought warmth under clothes, bruises were bitten into willingly offered throats, profanities whispered between rushed kisses. Something they'd both been missing for months very nearly happened on the kitchen floor―but from Dean's vantage point of sprawled flat on his back he had a perfect view of Mary opening the fridge, silhouetted against the harsh white light. 

A strangled sound was ripped from Dean's chest, and turning quickly to find the source of the sound, Mary let out a startled squeak.

"M-mom," Dean tripped over the name, struggling to sit up with Nick's full weight against him.

"Good god, Dean. Don't scare me like that." Mary pressed a hand to her chest trying to catch her breath around a nervous laugh. "You know your dad and his Christmas horror movie marathons. I'm falling asleep with him watchin' Human Centipede and then I come down here and suddenly in the dark there's this thing with too many legs on my floor. You boys are going to give me a heart attack."

Dean got as far as his knees and awkwardly tugged up his sweat pants, uncomfortably aware of how Nick was partially hiding behind him. "It's … it’s, not what it looks like? I fell and―"

"Dean, I may have been born at night, but it wasn't last night." Letting out a relieved puff of breath, she pulled a mason jar from the back of the fridge. "You know the rules about sex in the house."

"I do?"

"Haven't changed them since you lived here." She unscrewed the lid of the jar and took a small sip.

Mind reeling, watching his mother calmly drinking the forbidden eggnog, Dean stammered before finding his words. "Use protection, and clean up after myself?"

"And no nothing in any room of the house other than your own. I finally got your dad to put in these beautiful new hardwood floors and I don't want them scuffed up."

"Sorry, ma’am," Nick very almost sounded sincere. 

Mary waved it off and started to screw the lid back on her jar but paused. "You boys want some? I've already gone through three jars and had to make another batch, but don't tell John, I threaten to break his thumbs if he got into the nog before Christmas Eve."

Just like that.

Mom had caught him with his hands in another man's pants and apparently the concern here was secret eggnog. 

Dean and Nick both politely declined, helping each other to their feet.

"Alright, well you boys don't stay up too late, John's been excited all week to get up early and make breakfast for you all."

Mom went back upstairs, and all Dean could do was stare numbly after her. It wasn’t until Nick started lightly pawing at his hip in the most delightful way possible was Dean able to get his mind back in gear. 

“Come on, man. No.” He very regrettably moved away from the other man. 

“You alright?” Nick had possibly never once been the one asking that question between the two of them. In the dark of the house his crooked smile wavered.

“Yeah, just… she  _ knows  _ now.”

Nick snorted softly. “Wait, did she not know you’re bi?”

“Fuck, Nick.  _ I _ didn’t know I was bi until a few months ago.” Dean ran his hands over his face. It was stupid to be bothered about the way that his mom wasn’t bothered. 

“I think maybe you’re not giving her enough credit.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Surprisingly gentle fingertips ran gently along Dean’s jaw and up into his hair, Nick remembering his smile in slow pieces. In a teasing tone he whispered, “It means that even with as bad as my eyes are, I saw you checking me out the first time we met.”

Rolling his eyes, but leaning into the touch, Dean grinned back. “First time we met it was me talking to your feet.”

“I’m not here to kink shame.” Nick, being as much of a disarming son of a bitch as always, brushed his very cold very bare toes against Dean’s.

“Ok, no. Gross. And no again for good measure.”

Nick’s laugh was a warm rumble of sound as he pressed their noses together. 

“Don’t,” Dean said with absolutely zero force behind it. “Don’t get all cute with me―my mom is very serious about her no sex outside of my own bedroom rules.”

Slowly, slowly, Nick was curling around Dean, arms bracing along his shoulders, knees knocking together. It was a variant of that consuming full bodied hug they’d shared on the floor, Nick holding onto him like a lifeline, but in a terrible way that nearly passed off as affection instead of need. 

“Your mom going to break your thumbs?” Nick joked like he hadn’t been found in the middle of a panic attack only a few minutes ago.

“Or worse.”  Dean pulled his arms around his friend, pressing his fingers into the line of the other man’s spine. It was a tighter hug than necessary, or maybe just tight enough, squeezing until Nick relaxed fully against him.

With a soft sigh, Nick brought their mouths together. Not a kiss, just an extra measure of closeness before he spoke, “How much worse we talking about?”

“Imagine the most disappointed mother lecture you can, and then triple it.”

“Oh  _ no _ ,” Nick lightly bit his lower lip, “not disappointment.”

“I’m serious, man. That’s the kinda’ guilt that sticks with you.” Years after the fact and Dean could still perfectly recall that let down look on his mother’s face when she walked in on him and his highschool lab partner ‘studying’ for their upcoming test. “I may be a grown ass man, but I’m a grown ass man who respects his mom’s rules.”

“But your bedroom isn’t right here, and it also has brothers sleeping all over it.”

Both very valid points.

However, Nick had been very far away for a very long time and Dean had always had pretty poor impulse control. 

“Well,” he found himself gently rocking them from side to side like they were teens slow dancing. For a breath Dean let himself get lost between long, drawn out kisses while he tried to come up with a solution to their problem. Finally whispering, “It’s a big sofa down there... and I can be real quiet.”

Nick grinned against him. “No you can’t.”

“No I can’t,” Dean agreed with a self defeating chuckle. Shrugging loosely he offered, “But I bet if you give me a chance I can find a way to keep my mouth real busy.”

Snorting softly, Nick turned his face against Dean’s shoulder, stubble rough and cheeks warm as he relaxed into very welcoming laughter.


	15. waiting on breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :<   
> so, it's been apparently a whole months since I updated this story. I don't know if it makes it up to your guys that it's because I've been writing on a new story??   
> Like... 2 new stories...   
> this summer has been made of writing-attention-deficit-disorder.  
> but hey, a new chapter of this, so yay? And hopefully I'll be able to write the last chapter in the next few weeks, if I can make myself focus

The last time that Dean had been woken up with an unceremonious pillow to the face had probably been back here in his bunk bed. His assailant back then, just like now, would always be his little brother. The perils of being back at home he supposed. 

“Fuckin’ knock it off, Sammy,” he flailed on arm out wide, cracking an eye to glare around the room in annoyance. “‘m tryin’ to sleep here.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam demanded in a tight whisper. 

“Sleeping,” Dean repeated before noticing that where he was sleeping happened to be laying face first against Nick’s chest. They seemed to be on the couch, the poorly lit basement around them, a horrified little brother looming over him with a pillow still gripped firmly in hand. 

“What if Mom or Dad come down here and see you?”

“If it’s Mom I say ‘morning’ and if it’s Dad I say ‘good to see your knee’s feeling better today’. Now piss off, Sam.”

“Dean, you’re naked.”

A fact that should have embarrassed Dean, at least marginally, but Nick was blinking sleepily at him. And it had been too damn long since he’d had a chance to wake up to that slow and awkward smile. 

So, completely ignoring the way that his brother smacked him once more with that pillow, Dean grinned at Nick and whispered, “Hey there.”

“Hey, yourself.” The man raised a sleep slow hand and ran it through Dean’s hair before rolling his eyes up to the jerk standing over them. “Did we wake you?”

“No,” Sam forced a smile, “the sound of my dad upstairs making coffee woke me. So you wanna’ unwrap my brother from you before someone catches you guys?”

Dean grumbled and sat up, stretching and then grinning when he realised that he still had his legs around Nick, and that they were both incredibly naked. 

“God damnit,” Sam turned away from the couch with a disgusted sound. “Clothes. Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Dean picked up his and Nick’s clothes and got dressed before his brother had a full blown freak out. Though he didn’t care what Sam may or may not have seen, and Gabriel seemed to still be sleeping, Dean didn’t like to see the nervous way that Nick very quickly pulled his clothes back on and tucked himself into the corner of the couch. He’d almost forgotten about the fact that Nick was a literal mess of a human being. 

Before he had a chance to do anything stupidly protective Nick spoke up from his safe seat.

“Your mom already knows… so probably don’t stress so much about it.”

“Excuse you.  _ What _ ?” Sam turned back around to face the couch, eyebrows high.

“She caught us upstairs last night when she was sneaking some of that eggnog,” Nick said one of the most direct sentences that Dean had ever heard out of him.

Sam had gone pale, knuckles white as he twisted the pillow between his hands, his eyes going from Nick to Dean. “W-what happened?”

“She told us to stop messing around in her kitchen. Apparently we’ve still got the same rules as when I was living here, and I’m only allowed to have sex in my own room.”

“And…?”

“And then she went back to bed,” Dean shrugged his way through a yawn, thinking that bed didn’t sound like a bad idea, but the scent of coffee brewing upstairs was just as tempting. “Well, I guess I’m up. Nick,” he lightly kicked a foot against his friend’s, “coffee?”

Grumbling like he was being subjected to some sort of punishment, Nick slid off the couch. “If I have to.”

“Coffee isn’t a have to, it’s a get to,” Dean lightly corrected. “Sammy, you wanna wake up your… um, Gabriel? We’ll go upstairs first and distract Dad so you two can do whatever weirdos do in the morning I guess.”

Sam still looked too traumatized by the news of last night to respond to his brother’s offer. 

Dad was at the table, coffee cup at his elbow while he squinted his way through today’s sports section of the newspaper. Dean had lost track of how many times he’d tried to convince his dad that all the same information lived on the internet. Apparently the old man preferred to live in the stone age and who was his son to question.

“Hey, how’s the leg doin’?” Dean circled the table and took down two mugs.

John grunted, which didn’t mean anything at all. 

Dean poured coffee for him and Nick, glancing over to see the other man lingering at the top of the basement stairs like he was considering bolting. “Milk or sugar?” He asked, trying to use the drink order as a reason to stay.

“Milk,” Nick answered hesitantly before slinking to the table, eyes narrowed against the daylight streaming in through the window over the sink. The man looked practically adorable in daylight and Dean didn’t think he’d ever quite get over it. 

“Mom said you were wanting us all to do some kinda’ breakfast today?”

“She already left for work,” John said in that distracted sort of way as he turned the page, almost definitely not having heard the question.

“Breakfast, Dad,” Dean pressed, laughing as he put a mug in front of Nick and sat down. “Am I making pancakes or what?”

“You’re waiting for me to finish my coffee before asking questions,” John rustled the paper, not even looking up.

Dean rolled his eyes, leaning a shoulder against Nick’s despite the funny look the blond man gave him. Shrugging, Dean nodded towards his father who hadn’t noticed the innocent bump any more than he would have noticed the other two men making out beside him―as long as they kept it down and didn’t interrupt his morning newspaper and coffee.  

Taking a long sip of his coffee, Nick watched John with a nervousness that kept his shoulders tight. And though John could be rather intimidating when he tried, the way that he closed one eye while he yawned could hardly be seen as threatening. 

It all made for a relatively peaceful sort of morning, one better than any Dean had had in months and months. He was particularly fond of the way that the man beside him slowly relaxed to the point that one cold hand came up to rest fairly high on Dean’s thigh.

Blatant flirting was always Dean’s favorite kind. He didn’t have to guess or hope he wasn’t reading in to something that wasn’t really there―after all the convoluted and confusing conversations that the two of them had had since meeting, bluntness was nice. Then again, even without the other man lightly feeling him up, last night happily confirmed that the two of them had settled back into their comfortable place. 

As ‘comfortable places’ went though, this was probably a weird one.

“Mom talk to you about last night?” The question rushing out of Dean’s mouth before he could overthink it. 

“Son, not for nothin’,” John started slowly, sounding distracted, “but if you don’t let me finish my coffee in peace then you’re going to have a much bigger problem than your mom catching you and your boyfriend on the floor last night.”

A harsh laugh tore from Dean’s throat, happy but horrified that his dad had answered his question so simply.

Somewhere in the basement, his baby brother was having a prolonged gay crisis―and up here Dean was holding another man’s hand while having coffee with his dad. He almost felt guilty for how happy he was about this strange turn of events. Only almost though.

Sam had always been the golden child, with his good grades and the way he almost never got in trouble at school. Dean was the one who never even went looking for trouble, it always came to him. And Nick felt a little like that, like trouble that had snuck up on Dean when he hadn’t been paying attention. 

He leaned into the other man again, and when Nick turned to give him a strange frown, Dean closed the space between them to steal a quick kiss. Sure, he knew he shouldn’t be pushing his luck, but if Dad wasn’t going to care then Dean felt like he deserved a little celebration to go with his coffee. 

Nick hardly kissed back, smiling too much to make it possible, but he did give Dean’s thigh a squeeze before going back to sipping on his breakfast.

It was a real shame that Sam missed that tiny display of affection, because he came upstairs on eggshells. 

“Mornin’,” he announced to the room in the most uncomfortable way that Sam had possibly ever said anything, skirting the table to go and get himself down a mug. 

“Mornin’, Sammy,” Dean grinned, amused to see his baby brother so awkward. 

Awkward with no good reason to be.

What Dean didn’t enjoy about this delightful mess, was the way that Dad folded his newspaper and turned in his seat to watch his youngest son. “You sleep alright, Sam?”

“Yeah, alright enough. Mom already at work?”

John nodded, and if Dean didn’t know any better he’d say their dad looked nervous.

And just like that, Dean’s good mood turned sour. It was hard to stay happy when he had to brace for the unknown. 

“So, uh, your mom got the recipe and all the ingredients. Was sort of hoping you and Gabriel wouldn’t mind making us that fancy french toast thing you two make sometimes.”

Dean had no freaking clue what his dad was talking about, because Sam never cooked anything other than salads―but he watched his kid brother smiling uncertainly before nodding. 

“Yeah. Gabe should be up in a bit. I’m sure he’d be happy to make breakfast.”

John had that same hesitant smile as his son before nodding too. “Great. You boys’ll have to make a bit extra for your mom. She’s been wanting to try it since she saw the pictures you guys posted of it this summer.”

It was like walking in halfway through an episode of an unfamiliar show, Dean looking between his dad and his brother, uneasy as the awkward tension rose, not knowing why the idea of french toast had suddenly crept up on Sammy in a way that made the kid look on the verge of panic. 

“W-what pictures?” Sam asked like he really didn’t want to know the answer.

“Oh, your mom follows you boys on that  _ insta _ -whatever and the  _ tweeter _ -thing. She’s always showing me pictures of the food you two are making.”

For some strange reason, Sam looked to Dean for help, and Dean couldn’t do anything other than shrug. 

Sam stood there at the coffee pot for far too long with that lost expression before smiling a tight smile. “So, um, y-you guys are ok with… this?”

“With breakfast? John raised an eyebrow. “You know I’m more of a bacon and eggs kind of man, but I’m willing to try some fancy toast.”

Dean laughed the nervous laugh of a spectator to something terrible, and earned himself a sharp elbow to the ribs from Nick. He rolled his eyes at his friend, annoyed that apparently he wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this as much as he was.

“About… about Gabe and me…?” Sam obviously wasn’t brave enough to say it in front of their dad, which sucked, because Dean hadn’t signed up for a rollercoaster of emotion this early in the morning.

He was almost always proud of his little brother.

Sam was amazing―but right now, Dean actually felt disappointed.

Disappointed in Sam, and then in Dad, because John looked at his coffee, scratched his jaw and also didn’t say the super obvious thing that needed to be said. 

Frustrated to the point of making poor choices, Dean opened his mouth to help them, only to be cut off by the man sitting next to him.

“He knows you married my brother, you ass. He’s saying it’s ok,” Nick could be very direct when he wanted to be. “Now, get with the making breakfast part… please.”

“Alright,” John looked up at them, taking a moment to frown at Nick, “don’t go putting words in my mouth. It’s no ‘ _ ok _ ’.” He turned in his seat to look at Sam. “You made your mom cry and I had to try and convince her that she hadn’t been a bad mother, and you had some other reason why you didn’t invited her to your wedding.”

Sam fidgeted with his still empty mug before saying, “I didn’t think any of you would want to come.”

“I’m not gonna’ go getting all sappy and emotional here,” John shook his head, getting up from the table and pouring himself a second coffee. “Your mom and I are both glad you found yourself someone… someone you wanted to settle down with. Maybe, if you feel like it, remind your mom that you love her. Maybe consider letting her come out and visit you boys; I know she wants to meet that dog of yours. She keeps calling it her _grandog_ and I have to keep talking her out of buying it clothes.”

The laugh that came out of Sam sounded a little broken.

The whole thing was a mess, but the good type of mess that Winchesters were so skilled at.

There might have been a bit of a hug.

Dean might have looked elsewhere.

Nick definitely rolled his eyes and grumbled about wanting breakfast.

  
  
  



	16. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for coming along with me on this story, this strange venture into the uncharted lands of DeanXLuci. It's fun to try something new.

“It’s not really fair, you know?” Dean asked, smacking the flat of his hands against the steering wheel.

“Sorry if my mounting panic attack is inconvenient,” Nick said beside him, forehead pressed against the glovebox. “But I did tell you I didn’t want to go shopping.”

Dean blinked and looked away from the crowded parking lot, back at his friend. “What? No, man. I’m sorry we dragged you out, and fuck yeah, good for you for getting this far. You’re tough as nails and I fuckin’ love you for it. I’m talking about Sam’s big dumb grin since breakfast.”

Nick rolled his head to the side, looking out at Dean with blown wide pupils, the dark drowning out nearly all the color. “You serious here?”

“Yeah, I mean, both of us are having to find out that our parents already know about us banging guys. I get pretty much no reaction, and Sam gets fussed over like it’s his birthday or something.”

“You’re actually saying to me,” Nick took a deep breath, closing his eyes and hunching his shoulders up around his ears, “you’re saying that you’re wishing that you’d been more pent up gay, repressed, and stressed out for the majority of your life like Sam, worring that your family might disown you or worse―instead of casually realising that you were bi and that no one gives a damn what you let another man stick in you?”

“Well… yeah?” Dean frowned, not sure if he wholly agreed with the other man’s wording.  “But, I mean, it couldn’t have been all that bad for Sam. Everyone’s making a big stink about it and―”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Come on,” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Seriously.” Nick’s voice had found a steadiness, the arch of his back relaxing. “Unless you got kicked out of your house when you were sixteen because your parents found you kissing another guy, shut the fuck up.”

It was rare that Dean found himself at a loss for words, but this was one of those moments, a sick feeling coiling down in his gut.

Nick let out a long breath, slowly folding his hands over the back of his neck, tension leaving him in stages.

“I’m sorry.” The word wasn’t a normal one for Dean and it felt clumsy in his mouth, but he meant it all the same.

“Don’t be. You weren’t the one who had the locks changed on your kid.” Another deep breath and Nick sat up straight, his eyes still wild and unfocused as he looked out at the sea of cars surrounding the shopping center. “Maybe just give Sam a break instead of being jealous.”

“Can… can I punch your family for you or anything?”

A sharp hook of a smile caught the corner of Nick’s mouth and he glanced in Dean’s direction. “Don’t waste your energy. I haven’t spoken to my mom or step dad in almost twenty years. They aren’t my problem anymore.”

And Nick was the sort of person that wasn’t likely to volunteer any extra information if he didn’t feel like sharing it―which was probably for the best seeing as this was a story that Dean knew would only make him angry. 

So, instead of asking questions he didn’t want answers to, Dean reached over, tracing fingers up Nick’s arm until he found the man’s hand. He laced their fingers together in exactly the way that he never even did with women. It didn’t have anything to do with flirting or romance. It was  _ relationship _ hand holding, and Dean refused to overthink it.

He raised their hands up, kissing the other man’s knuckles, smiling when Nick finally looked back over at him.

“Hey,” Dean whispered with his lips still resting softly against Nick’s cold skin. 

Very reluctantly, Nick whispered back, “Hey.”

Dean wished that he’d figured out what he wanted to say before he started talking, but he’d just wanted to jostle his friend free of the dark cloud that had settled over them. 

Nearly too long passed in that quiet, occasional cars passing behind them, or families laiden with far too many shopping bags grazing the bumps of the car as they hurried through the lightly falling snow. 

While Dean mentally fumbled over the need to say anything, Nick took action, sliding over the bench seat to kiss him with more force than necessary.

It was startling and unexpected, but Dean wasn’t the sort of person who felt there was ever a bad or inappropriate time for this sort of thing. So, leaning into the near bruising kisses, he closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the brief manhandling. It was only when the other man ran a hand up the inside curve of Dean’s thigh, that he pulled back, laughing softly.

“Not a complaint,” he breathily grinned at the other man, “but Sam and Gabriel are probably gonna’ be back from shopping real soon. Not sure this is the best time for...”

Nick pushed his forehead against Dean’s, simply being close, his hand still very much settled between Dean’s thighs. “Is it awkward if I have to point out that I’ve got a thing for getting caught?”

“Yeah… um,” Dean bit his lip, breath catching from the way that Nick’s hand rubbed slowly against him, “really feel like I should have picked up on that one already.”

Humming in agreement, Nick nodded, “And it’s nice when I don’t want to think.”

Seeing as Dean was having a very hard time coming up with even half of a coherent thought, he could respect this very nice choice of a distraction. He very actually hated to have to argue his way out of this. “Come on, man. Sam’s gonna bitch at us about it all the way home.”

Blinking, Nick leaned back a fraction of an inch. “Really?”

“If you haven’t been lectured by Sam yet, you don’t know what you’re getting us in to.”

Grumbling like a little kid who’d been told he’d have to wait until after dinner to have cookies, Nick leaned back against the seat, letting his head fall to one side. 

“I’m sure as hell not a therapist, but… you know, maybe not the best way to deal with things you don’t wanna’ deal with.”

“Shut up, Winchester.”

Dean nodded, accepting the answer he got because really, it was the same response he would have had to being given that kind of advice.

Reaching for a distraction of his own, not liking the slight awkwardness he’d added to their quiet, Dean smiled crookedly and offered, “I like seeing you during the day.” 

“Why?”

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed with me,” he grinned, “and with all this daylight I get a chance to appreciate it.”

Nick rolled his eyes, but smiled too.

“ _ Really _ cute,” Dean emphasised.

That sliver of a smile still in place as Nick pointed out, “If you keep talking like that, someone’s gonna’ get the wrong idea and think that you like me or something.”

“Gross, man. Next thing you know they’ll start thinking you like me back.”

“We should start dating to help clear up any confusion,” Nick advised, and when stunned silence answered him he cleared his throat and softly clarified, “on a part time basis.”

Dean felt like a stranger in his own car, fumbling over his words before managing to ask, “What does part time dating look like exactly?” 

“Like this,” Nick’s pale eyes were fixed on a herd of soccer moms running for the doors to the shopping center. “Whenever we’re in the same state, it looks like this.”

Dean could have asked what happened when, in a couple of days they had to go back to living with half the country between them―but he was fairly certain that he already knew that answer, and he honestly didn’t care for it.

So he raised their hands, their fingers twisted together from a few minutes before, and Dean kissed the other man’s knuckles like a promise, stubbornly deciding not to let go until he had to. 

\-------

It really didn’t matter that Dean hadn’t heard from Nick since the man went back to California nearly a month ago. 

It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the night when his phone went off, waking him from a very pleasant and sound sleep, or that he had to reach an arm out of his warm blankets to grab his phone off the nightstand.

Nick called and so Dean answered.

“Yeah?” His voice sleep rough and unfamiliar to his own ears. Dean pressed the heel of one hand over an eye. “What’s wrong?”

White noise greeted him.

“Nick?” Dean blinked bindly into his dark room, confusion and concern helping him to wake. 

The man’s voice came out uncertain and faint when he finally spoke, “Yeah?” 

“Everything ok?”

“Well, yeah. Are you ok?”

Tension bled from Dean as he rolled onto his side. “I’m fine.”

An awful lot more quiet was the reply.

“Nick,” Dean rubbed at his face. “Not that it isn’t great to hear from you, but why are you calling me in the middle of the night?”

“You… you didn’t text me yesterday.”

“I didn’t?” Dean hitched the blankets up over his head, trying to fight off the chills he was starting to get from the cold winter night. “Sorry, man. I had to dig the car out of the snow to go to work in the morning and things were super busy when I got there. I guess I just forgot.” 

“Oh,” was all Nick said. 

Dean was far too tired to handle the sudden feelings of guilt. “Come on. Don’t. I’m allowed to forget one time.”

“No,” Nick disagreed with unexpected force, “you’re not. I was worried. Your brother said not to be, that you just forgot―but you never forget to text me good morning. And now I have to tell him he was right? I hate when Sam is right.”

“Sam’s always right,” Dean sighed. “You’re going to have to get used to it.”

Nick didn’t laugh like he was supposed to, instead whispering in a defeated tone, “I don’t like to worry. I don’t want to get used to it.”

Weeks and weeks since Dean had put this man on a plane back home, kissing him in the airport despite the looks that they got. Which meant it was weeks and weeks since he’d heard so many words out of this other man and Dean almost hated how much he loved the soft sounds of the other man breathing, making him feel homesick in terrible ways.

It was a feeling that he had no way of fixing at this particular moment in his life, so he did his best to smother it down with humor. “Don’t know if you knew,” he yawned against his phone, “but you  _ are  _ allowed to be the one who texts first.”

Nick grumbled and cleared his throat before admitting, “Nothing I type out ever sounds right.”

A smile tugged at Dean, because Nick had basically said that he’d very nearly texted at some point and if that wasn’t progress he didn’t know what was.

It was a stupid thing to be happy about, but Dean couldn’t help himself.

“Alright,” he chuckled into a second yawn. “How’s about, next time you want to text but don’t know what to say... you can go ahead and send some nudes.”

Nick snorted softly.

“Obviously I mean somethin’ tasteful,” Dean grinned through the ache of realising just how much he missed this. “You know. Just a little somethin’ to keep me warm at night.”

“I have not ever, and will not ever, take or send nudes.”

Which sounded like an awful shame in Dean’s book, because Nick was a good solid nine out of ten in Dean’s book. 

“Ah, but will you  _ get  _ nudes? And if you do, what will you do with them? Those are the real questions we should be asking here.”

Apparently the longer that Nick was on the phone the easier speaking became for him, his laughter warm as he asked, “Is this a question, an offer, or a threat?”

“I mean… what would you like it to be? Because it’s cold as balls out here, and I could actually die of hypothermia trying to, but if it keeps you on the phone then yeah. Fuck it. I will send you so many nudes.”

“Do you ever stop and listen to yourself?”

“I try not to.” Dean fumbled the phone, trying to remember how to turn on the front facing camera. “ It ruins the momentum. All that stopping and  _ thinking _ .”

“And that’s just not you?”

“No it is not,” Dean admitted with a grin.

There was a long bout of silence followed by a startled bark of laughter.

When Nick finally managed to calm himself he asked in a carefully tight voice, “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you just send me a picture of part of your shoulder?”

“Because it’s fucking cold over here and I changed my mind about stripping for you.”

A long sigh came over the phone line, but it was hard to read the emotion behind it until Nick offered, “Sorry.”

“That it’s so cold?” Dean laughed.

“That I woke you… and that it’s cold,” with another of his reedy exhales, Nick added, “if I was there I’d find a way to keep you warm.”

“Yeah?” Seeing as he was already awake and everything, and having his friend on the phone was such a rare treat, Dean saw nothing wrong with a little extra teasing. “And how would you keep me warm, Nick?”

And what Dean expected in return for this extra teasing was a good laugh and maybe some deliciously biting sarcasm. 

What Dean didn’t expect was to come as quickly as he did while listening to Nick describe exactly what he’d do to him if they were together. 

Describe in very explicit detail.

And for whatever it was worth, huddled in the dark under all his blankets, catching his breath while holding the phone with a sweating and shaking hand, Dean  _ did _ feel warmer. 

Closing his eyes, he listened to the soft and delicious sounds coming to him from over state lines, and did his best to imagine he wasn’t lying there alone. 

But the longer he laid there, with the heat creeping away, and the lonely winter night wrapping around him like a familiar and terrible friend, the more Dean started to wish that he’d never answered the phone. 

“It’s Wednesday,” Nick’s voice rumbled low and very sweet.

Dean opened his eyes, startled and suddenly very concerned he might have fallen back asleep. He pulled the phone back enough to squint at the time in the corner.

With a soft sigh, Nick asked, “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“What are you usually doing on Wednesday nights?”

Dean chuckled. “Other than sleeping?”

And if he’d been talking to just about anyone else, Dean would have worried at the unnaturally long silence, but this was Nick, and Nick tended to take his time picking his words.

“Can…” he started, trailing off before finally asking, “can I call you Wednesday nights?”

The easy answer was yes. There wasn’t anything he could think of that he’d want more, however, Dean usually preferred the path of most resistance and he couldn’t ignore the perfect set up. “I don’t know…  _ can  _ you call me?”

He didn’t even have to see his friend’s face to know the exact hitch to his eyebrows and the sudden sour angles of Nick’s frown. 

Awkwardly, Dean filled the irritated quiet. “I mean, you know, maybe not quite this late since I’ve got work in a few hours… but yeah. Yeah, of course you can call me on Wednesdays.”

They were empty words.

Even if Dean meant them wholeheartedly, he knew that he was just agreeing to an offer that Nick would never in a million years follow through with.

Except that Nick  _ did _ call.

He started calling every week―but even with as amazing as it was feeling that buzz of anticipation every Wednesday morning until his phone rang some time before bed, it didn’t take Dean more than a couple weeks to realise that a long distance relationship like this wasn’t one he wanted. 

\--------

His whole life, Dean had been the sort of person to throw caution to the wind and rush headlong into things.

Sam did a good job balancing him out by over planning the hell out of just about everything.

Which meant that something that would have taken him a day or two to act on got stretched out for months with his brother’s help―but to be honest he hadn’t been able to see any way around it. Some nights Dean would just lay there in bed, wondering where he’d be if he hadn’t asked for his brother’s help, and then laughing and wondering how many years Sam would have been able to drag this out to if he’d been given the opportunity.

Two months was long enough.

Maybe even too long if Dean let himself dwell on the way that he’d received phone calls from both Gabriel and Meg, warning him just how much Nick didn’t like surprises, and also how much they supported Dean coming back to California somewhat unannounced.

It was only when he found himself lingering in the doorway to the internet cafe, hot sun at his back, feeling like a stranger stepping into a saloon in some old cowboy flick, did Dean have the first twinge of doubt.

But with months of planning and a three day drive behind him it was a little late to wonder if he shouldn’t have spent a little more time overplanning things like Sam had wanted.

Imagining anything more hipster and terrible than an internet cafe was difficult for him. 

How were there this many people hard up for a wifi connection and also working on screen plays or whatever people did on laptops in coffee shops. 

This was not his world.

He was only a visitor.

But he knew someone here and that meant he had the equivalent of a passport. 

A hipster nerd passport.

Patting the car keys in his pocket, before scratching the back of his head, he quickly ran out of nervous ticks that only came when he gave himself time to overthink something, Dean pushed himself forward.

Winding between tables he made his way to the last round table in the back, pulling out a chair and sitting down like he had every right to be here.

The man across from him didn’t even look up, and considering the big chunky headphones and concentrated look that Nick wore it seemed very likely that he hadn’t even noticed that he had company.

Dean wanted to say something.

Maybe to grin and wink and watch the surprise unfold over his friend’s face. 

Instead, he sat there enjoying the slight tan line visible around the collar and sleeves of the other man’s shirt.  Except, it was one of Dean’s shirts and he was both impressed and confused as to how and when the man had managed to steal it from him.

He could have sat there for at least an hour refamiliarising himself with his friend’s face.

Nick didn’t give him the chance.

Like he could feel himself being stared at, the man glanced up over the edge of his laptop screen, blue eyes flicking up then back to his work.

Maybe two seconds passed before Nick pushed himself almost violently back from the table, looking at Dean in shock.

“Hey,” it was the same easy start that Dean always used when he needed to buy himself a moment to get his thoughts together. “Hope it’s not too forward, but you’re kinda hot… can I buy you a drink?”

After at least five false starts, Nick stumbling over a small, confused sound, he managed to softly say, “No thanks. I’ve got a boyfriend.”

“Well, congrats to him.” Dean grinned. “The man’s got good taste and better luck.”

“Yes he does,” A smile was threatening the edges of Nick’s mouth, but he did a marvelous job keeping it under control.

“It’s just a drink,” Dean loved watching all the emotions his friend was fighting down. “Maybe two...”

“Still have that boyfriend.”

“We don’t have to tell him.”

Nick pulled at his lower lip, not quite making eye contact in that uneasy way that he had, the old habit at odds with his new and unusual surroundings, and tan, and everything. 

“Or, you know, I’m staying at a place near here, we can always head that way, see where the mood takes us.”

A startled laugh hiccuped out of Nick and he covered his mouth, shaking his head. “Alright. I’m … I’m just going to leave.”

“You headed home?”

Nick took a slow breath through his teeth, before hesitantly answering, “Yes?”

“You want a ride?”

“It’s close enough I’m just going to walk.”

Which was very true. Dean had been disappointed when he’d finally reached Sam’s place after days of driving to discover that Nick was actually gone―and then relieved when he found out that the man didn’t tend to go further than the cafe a couple blocks down.

Dean leaned forward, elbows on the table as he offered, “I could walk you home.”

The happy and yet exasperated look on his friend’s face was exactly what he’d been missing in the months they’d been apart.  

Chest tight with warm feelings that weren’t good for such a public space, Dean resisted the urge to reach across the table and take the other man’s hand. 

Thankfully, even if his self control had waived, it seemed that one of the cafe’s employees was there to keep him in line.

The apron wearing, long haired, distractingly curvy young woman loomed suddenly over the table, arms folded over her chest and a look on her face that said she’d dealt with men like Dean before. “He said no. So fuck off, you dick.”

Before Dean could even come to his own defence, Nick was smiling up at the woman in a surprisingly charming way. “It’s alright, Amy. This dick is actually my boyfriend. Dean, this is Meg’s girlfriend, Amy―Amy, Dean.”

“ _ This _ is Dean?” She sounded incredibly doubtful. “The way Meg described him sweet talking you out of your shell I just guessed he’d be… nicer?”

Dean laughed, but couldn’t exactly defend himself.

“He is exactly how I like him,” Nick said in a surprisingly gentle way as he crammed his laptop into a shoulder bag. “Wouldn’t change a thing… and you and Meg need to find someone else to talk about. I’m not that interesting.”

Amy gave him a dubious smile. “Yeah, I’m not telling Meg that her bestfriend isn’t as adorable as she thinks you are.”

With eyes wide and frown tight, Nick started to protest, but Dean stepped in. “He’s secretly even more adorable when no one is looking.”

“I’m walking home now,” Nick announced, shouldering his bag and pausing to kiss Amy’s cheek. “Give that to Meg for me.”

“Yeah alright, you big flirt. Get out.” She gave him a gentle shove towards the door, smiling as she went back to work.

Dean was left to trot after his friend, grinning happily until they made it to the street. 

“How is it so hot out here when there’s still snow on the ground back in Kansas?” He demanded. It was too early in the day to be sweating, not even lunch time yet―not even April yet. “This sucks.”

“I’d say you’ll get used to it, but…” Nick shrugged, waiting for Dean to catch up before heading towards home. “So, were you just in the area and thought you’d say hi?”

“Something like that.”

“You could have told me you were coming?”

“I  _ could _ ,” Dean shrugged easily, “but where’s the fun in that?”

Nick looked at him sideways.

“Glare all you want, you gorgeous son of a bitch.” He beamed. “I missed you.” 

Even though his friend didn’t say it back, Nick smiled and rolled his eyes and stumbled sideways enough that their arms brush.

“Flirt,” Dean accused, grinning.

“Shut up and… you know, hold my hand or something.”

More than a little self conscious, Dean did as he was told, looping their fingers together and ignoring how it made him feel like he was a sweaty awkward fourteen year old again. 

Unable to tell if Nick didn’t want to talk, or was simply returning to his normal easy silence, Dean accepted that their short walk home didn’t need to be weighed down with small talk. 

To his surprise, his friend didn’t skirt the side of the house to go through the back gate, instead taking out keys and letting himself in the front door like a normal human. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Dean followed the other man, glancing at the foot of the stairs where he and Sam had dumped his things less than an hour ago, “but you’re different now.”

“How am I supposed to take that other than the  _ wrong _ way?” Nick glanced over his shoulder while locking the door.

“Just mean that you… I don’t know, man, it’s just some pretty awesome progress. You stopped haunting the attic, you’re going outside, you’re almost like a normal person.”

Nick snorted softly at the rather low bar compliment. Shaking his head, he let his laptop bag slide gently from his shoulder to rest on the floor, and stepping forward he pushed Dean against the nearest wall, kissing him all in one fluid movement.

And Dean had assumed that coming back to the house would lead to talking, maybe unpacking, but at the same time he wasn’t the sort to complain about the diversion, sliding both hands up into the other man’s hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. 

In a way that only felt natural and logical, the rough and welcome kisses shifted to rough and welcome touching. Nick’s hands sliding up under Dean’s shirt, fingers splayed wide, thumbs digging into the line of his ribs, pulling Dean’s body against his like he could make them one person.

It was like being devoured.

“Missed you,” Dean managed between bruising kisses. “Really fuckin’ missed you.”

With a shaking laugh, Nick wrapped his arms around Dean, pressing their foreheads together, mouthing ‘missed you too’ with even less sound than a whisper, just a breath.   

“Yeah?”

Nick hummed a soft, agreeable sound, not loosening his hug for an instant.

“You know, I couldn’t tell,” Dean teased, loving the warm reception that he was receiving. It was exactly what he’d hoped for, but not what he’d been counting on, considering how much this man’s brother and best friend had warned him against surprises.

The back door slid open with a faint noise, followed by the aggressive clicking of so many dog feet as Dean found his knees very suddenly being assaulted by sniffing noses and swinging tails. Sam followed the dogs, but didn’t feel the same need to investigate the men in the hall.

Casual, so casual and calm in the way only Sam could do, Dean’s little brother walked into the kitchen. “Gabe wants to know if he should take an extra long lunch break so we can all eat together.”

“I already went outside for today,” Nick answered back just as impassively.

“No rules against going outside twice,” and the way that Sam said it made it seem like this was not a new argument.

“People who go out more than once a day need to find better hobbies,” Nick grumbled, directing the comment at no one in particular, returning so easily into that strange and withdrawn rhythm he had―which would have been more concerning if his grip had loosened or if he’d made any attempt to retreat.

Dean pushed his hands through Nick’s hair one last time before looping his arms around the man’s shoulders. Grinning, he let his head fall to one side, watching Sam give them his very best bitch-face from the kitchen. 

The dogs obviously didn’t care about this human disagreement, continuing to trot happily up and down the hall, pausing repeatedly to check out Dean’s stuff sitting at the base of the stairs, or Dean himself, giving him almost as warm of a welcome as Nick was.

“Alright,” came the exasperated sigh from the kitchen. Sam finally folding under the pressure of the silence answering his request for a family lunch. “I’ll tell him dinner works better.”

“Tell him he’s making us dinner,” Nick replied, the man’s soft voice tickling along Dean’s skin in a way that made him want to squirm. They were still pressed together against the wall, neither of them showing any sign that they wanted to let go just yet.

Sam grumbled for show, but Dean could see his brother’s smile. “Fine. I was headed to the grocery store anyways… I’m taking my brother with me.” Sam stated it as a simple fact, but followed up with the offer of, “You can come with if you like, Nick.”

Spine going rigid like he’d been insulted by the offer, Nick half turned so he could face the kitchen, taking Dean in the small circle with him to trade of the very unexciting view of the wall. “Screw you, Winchester. You’ve had him your whole life―but I only get him for a few days, so back off.”  

“What happens in a few days?” Sam asked hesitantly.

Nick answered by resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder very stubbornly. Posessively.

With a sharp laugh, Sam made sense of the gesture, showing that in that past few months he’d learned how to read Nick fairly well. “You think he’s  _ leaving  _ in a few days?”

“Or weeks,” Nick mumbled.

“Dean, you still haven’t told him?” Sam sounded closer, and turning his head, Dean was able to see his brother coming towards them to grab his house keys. “Ok, well then I’m getting the hell out of here, because Nick’s going to go hard one way or the other and I don’t want to be here for it either way.”

In the time it took Sam to beat a hasty retreat, Nick had taken a step back, holding Dean at arm’s length, eyes narrowed.  “I don’t like surprises.”

“Then I won’t tell you that I’m moving into Gabriel’s old room, and you won’t be surprised by it.”

“Excuse you?”

Dean nodded towards his stuff still sitting conspicuously at the foot of the stairs. “Worked it all out with your brother. He lives down here with Sam now, and the room up there’s still empty, and me moving in… it’s sort of a perfect fit.”

Expecting Nick to smile back might have been too much. Dean knew his friend took longer than normal to sort through feelings and to decide on what to say, but he wasn’t expecting the man to back up further, rubbing his arms and looking at his feet. It was such a harsh return to normal after a morning of pleasant differences.

It took him a couple irritated paces for Nick to finally step over Dean’s boxes, and sink down onto the bottom of the staircase.

Since he’d met this man, Dean had gotten very used to waiting, knowing that it wasn’t a good or a bad thing. It was just a Nick thing. 

Finally the man lifted his head, looking at the dogs instead of Dean, reaching out to scratch Loki’s head while asking, “What? So just because I’m in love with you I don’t get a say in you moving into my house?”

“Is that at me, or the dog?” Dean couldn’t help himself.

“You, you ass.”

Dean’s smile made his cheeks hurt, clearing his throat and having to try at least twice before getting out the words, “Love you too, Nick.”

“ _ What _ ?” Nick’s voice cracked on that sharp question, looking up with wild eyes. 

“You said it first, man,” Dean wasn’t about to apologise. 

“I did?” The man’s slightly sunkissed tan did nothing to mask the red blossoming over his cheeks. “Oh… I mean… yeah. Alright.”

“Alright I can stay, or alright you love me?”

Nick ran his hands over his face, whining softly before finally saying, “Both,” loud enough that the dogs backed up and looked around nervously. “You know what? No. No. I change my mind.”

Which could have been insulting or kind of sad, but Dean laughed because of the irrational tone his friend had found. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Because we moved my computer desk in there forever ago. It’s my work room and you can’t have it.” The other man looked about ready to scramble back up to the darkness beyond the door above them. 

Dean waited, worrying about which way this seemed to be leaning, thinking that Sam might have had the right idea in leaving to avoid it. 

Mercifully his patience rewarded, Nick finally offering, “You can have the left side of my bed though… I don’t really use it for anything.”

The path to his friend was littered with boxes and dogs, and he stepped cautiously over them all to kneel on the floor between Nick’s knees. 

“You sure?” Dean very lightly touched the other man’s hands, pointing out the obvious, “Because you can tell me to fuck off and I can―”

“You still don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Nick asked, curling his fingers through Dean’s as he leaned in to kiss him.

This might not have been anyone else’s idea of perfection. 

But Dean wouldn’t have changed a thing.

 


End file.
